The Undiscovered Country
by Sydney Andrews
Summary: Chapter 31, posted! At long last, the update! Rorie confronts her father about Synergy, and then makes a decision that Knight does not like. Rated G, for geeky biomedical plot. smiles Syd
1. Prologue

**_a/n:_**

**_- to Gem, with all of my thanks and love._

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**The Undiscovered Country**

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**_Prologue_**

She was dressed from head to toe in shearling fur, a tiny black speckle on a white page. Then an inky smudge, as she threw the pelt over her shoulder, squinting out into the blizzard impassively. Her skin was as white as the snow, her features as chiselled as the sheer ice below her boots. And the wind howled through her long strands of raven hair as she marched on.

This was the peak of Siberian Exile, where screams disappeared into the frigid air, forgotten in an instant, for not a single hill or cliff existed to create an echo. It was flat and unforgiving, and hers were the only footprints for miles. And her human heart was the only tempo of life this place had ever heard.

The ancient fortress was invisible from afar, an optical illusion made of ice so polished, it reflected the earth and sky in perfect proportion. Her face stared back stonily as she approached it, red lipstick and naturally blue eyes baptizing the mirror with three drops of searing colour. And a gloved hand reached out and pressed hard to the boundary, black leather around slender fingers meeting solid, impregnable energy.

She scowled, bit her lip. Then used her teeth to remove the glove, revealing an ivory hand with impeccably manicured nails, as crimson as the blood which coursed through her heart. Carefully, she breathed onto the glacial surface, and condensation fogged her image, which she wiped clean with her bare hand. It was freezing, but she did not break contact, taking a deep breath, suppressing a shiver, and waiting.

As if by melting, the façade beneath her palm began to liquefy into a silvery pool, oozing and dripping like molten candle wax. It ran over her fingers and wrist, and trickled along her arm, soaking her wool sweater. And then it was alive, not merely flowing, but engulfing her dainty figure, self-perpetuating and unstoppable.

"_Oh, mon Dieu, c'est si froid_…_! Cold !_" she gasped in a fine, Parisian accent. The woman shuddered, shut her eyes, and bit down hard, allowing the steadily thickening fluid to take her entirely, surging over her body and down her throat. She screamed, because it was painful, but she didn't fight it. This was why she came here, to the edge of the world. To make a deal with the devil himself.

* * *

She opened her eyes to the unremarkable simulation of a maximum security detention facility. The code was uninspired and bare, dribbling down in strong, unembellished columns, not unlike the bars of a prison cell. The programming was intended to be impenetrable and impossible to bend, though the Programmers never counted on their design being tested. This was where programs went to be forgotten. This place was for exiles whose crimes were too severe to merit deletion, but rather an eternity of torture and solitude. Currently, only one daemon festered here, and in the Matrix, his name was so cursed that few people even dared to utter it aloud. 

"My, it's blustery out there, isn't it?" she said casually to the porter, removing her hat and gloves. "Thank goodness I remembered my muff."

The heavily armed guard hadn't seen a single visitor in six hundred years. He stood mechanically and raised his hand to a plastic earpiece, signalling for three other programs to join him behind the bullet proof glass. These were all agents.

"It's her," one observed.

"The anomaly."

"Do we proceed?"

"Yes."

"She is still…"

"Only human."

The lady quirked an eyebrow and frowned, as if confused. "I'm sorry, gentlemen," she said sweetly. "I'm here to see Mr. Smith. You see, I've baked him a cake to brighten his day, and would very much like to deliver it personally. Is he busy at present?"

* * *

Shreds of their code still hung from her fingernails as she leisurely walked though the corridors, the clickity-clack of her heeled boots like a metronome for the melodic screaming which seemed to resound from the walls. The doors were hospital green, all identical and unmarked, an arrangement which conformed to the ideal Machine aesthetic, and it disgusted her to realize that she felt comfortable here. Order. Unity. Sterile, mathematical precision. These things were still her religion; they matched her soul's resonant frequency perfectly. And so it didn't take long to find him. She knew inherently where he would be. 

Bound in an orange straitjacket and muzzled like an animal, Smith sat strapped to a chair in the centre of his empty cell. She approached slowly, as one would a rabid, caged beast, and looked down on him with a mixture of pity and contempt. He stared back blankly, enigmatically. Almost as if he'd known she was coming.

The legend of Mr. Smith and the Blind Messiah was common folklore where she came from. Twenty years ago, an agent had mutated into a virus, taken over the System, and would have destroyed all of 01 had The Source not forged an alliance with the Sixth Human Anomaly, whose name was Neo. If he destroyed the virus, Zion would also live on. Both human and program perished in the battle that ensued, but in his divine mercy, The Source spared Neo's life, and as a gift to him, also brought back his much beloved Trinity. Together they were entrusted with maintaining the peace of the human world.

And Smith, the bringer of plague and embodiment of all that was evil, was judged very harshly. He did not die, and would not be deleted. Rather, The Source rebooted his battered program into the Matrix he hated so well, condemning Smith to spend eternity in the worst torment he could imagine. The poor, pathetic creature was so marred in shame, not even his own God would take him back.

The woman circled the bound program several times, taking her time to read his code in its entirety. She'd been worried that he would be too badly degraded to be of use, and so was pleased to discover that the damage was not irreparable, and he was still very powerful indeed. It had been said that he drew his energy directly from hell, but she didn't believe in these foolish children's stories. He was an anomaly, a very unique systemic mistake, which self-perpetuated and destroyed organics and machines indiscriminately, nothing more.

That is to say, he was perfect.

"Hello, Mr. Smith," she whispered in a voice as smooth and dark as any program's, subtly brushing her fingers across his shoulder, up to his ear. "I am a very busy woman these days, so I will be direct. I went to a great deal of trouble to find you, and travelled a great distance to arrive at this dreadful place. Now I can see that you are scarcely worth my trouble. But I have run out of time, so you will have to do. I require your cooperation on a matter of the utmost importance, and in return you will have your freedom."

She narrowed her eyes and wrapped her mind around the straps which fastened his leather mask and gag. Without her having to lift a finger, the muzzle complied with her will, steel buckles snapping like twigs and falling to the floor. The room shook.

"Now speak," she commanded. "Will you comply, or nay?"

He glared at her in muted defiance, then observed impassively, "The code dances for you, human. That's not the standard variety of parlour trick around here. What could one so talented want with _me_… the _scourge_ of this system?"

"I'm surprised you haven't figured that out by now. I want what you wanted. I want _everything_."

"You want Neo."

She stared at him evenly with clear blue eyes, then her lip curled into a satisfied smile. He was the perfect slave.

"Allow me to introduce myself properly," she said, breaking the remainder of his shackles and chains without even blinking. She pulled Smith from his chair and eased him into a standing position, his body gently but firmly puppeteered by an unrelenting energy.

She held her hand out to him. "My name is Synergy."

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	2. Chapter 1

_**a/n: **_

_**-to Zinck, whose work "Zinck's Story" I greatly admire. Thank you for being this fiction's first review.**_

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_**Chapter 1**_

Neo sat alone in his vast office, sifting through the piles and piles disks that he'd found on his desk that afternoon.

_What a mess. What a complete disaster, Trinity. And what the hell do you want me to do with these? _

They were applications, hundreds of them, all competing for the single internship that Trinity held yearly aboard the Nebuchadnezzar. He had half a mind to have them all sent back to _her_ desk, with a strongly-worded note attached, telling her to deal with them herself, for God's sake. She was the Captain, after all. This was her little project, not his.

Traditionally, Trinity always offered the prestigious position to the top student in her Topics in Advanced Engineering class, a hands-on conference for which she personally selected only six of the most impressive senior Academy students. Every year, the infamously demanding instructor would assign an impossible feat of ingenuity for her unfortunate pupils to tackle - double the top speed of their hovercraft, triple the range of their ships' sensors, quadruple the efficiency of the engine. In short, she'd set them up for failure and then scrutinize the results, being secretly impressed that they'd accomplished what they did, but never letting her satisfaction show. It's how she'd discover the most inventive young minds from the Academy. Nothing but the best, the brightest, the over-achievers would succeed. 'The Future of the Resistance,' is what she called them.

Those little suck-ups drove Neo crazy.

But this year, it was supposed to be different; Neo had been looking forward to working with Trinity's top student, her most promising protégé. This year, it wasn't another arrogant young son or daughter of a Council member, or naïve child-genius who'd never seen the inside of the sewers before. This year, he'd _hoped_ it would be their daughter.

"No. She's too young," Trinity had said as she frowned at the _formal_ letter of application that Aurora left at her office. "I need someone… older."

"She'll be eighteen soon. That's old enough, Trin."

Trinity sighed. "I don't see why she's interested in my internship at all. She seems perfectly content to sit in the lab all day-"

"You _know_ why, Trinity-"

"The surface is _no_ place for an eighteen year old girl. The idea of risking your life for a soil sample and a few barometer readings is ludicrous. This is the _army_, Neo."

"The Surface Reconstruction Project-"

"_Failed_."

"It can still work and-"

"It _failed_, and twenty-seven of our researchers died trying to make it work. Not Rorie. There are plenty of people to collect samples for her."

"Trinity, if she's going to help lead the next SRP, she needs experience in the field."

"I need an _engineer_, not a… _biologist_."

"Oh, come on. She's a better engineer than most of our crew, and you know it."

Trinity leaned back and groaned. Of course she knew that. Over the years, she'd taught her daughter everything she knew about electrical engineering and propulsion. And, although Rorie seemed to find sewer-beetles and blue-green algae more interesting than hovercraft, she could still run circles around most of her better mechanics. This wasn't a question of her daughter's competence.

Trinity closed the microcomputer on her lap and concluded, "In any event, there is an obvious conflict of interest here. Even if I wanted to accept her, it wouldn't be ethical for me to do so."

But Neo was not about to let the matter go so easily. He'd argued with her about it all evening, and it had escalated into their most heated row in a very long time. Eventually, Neo stormed out in frustration to take a walk around the upper levels, a decision that was ill-thought out. When he returned, he found his daughter in her room crying, and Trinity was sitting at the kitchen table, glass of hard liquor in hand, drafting a notice to all senior Academy students advising them of the newly-available position on her ship.

The two lovers of nearly epic proportions had hardly spoken since, and a large, invisible space was slowly filling up between them with all the things they wanted to say to each other, but didn't. He found her unreasonable, and he was sure that she found him unsupportive. And frankly, the fact that she had the nerve to send a plethora of applications over to his office for review, knowing full-well how he felt about it, was eating away at his last nerve. She could have at least compiled them onto _one_ disc for him. He had a feeling that she had done it more to bother him than anything else.

_What a monumental mess, Trinity. _

Neo testily pushed the applications back into their boxes, and decided to head over to the Dock to check on his estranged daughter. She'd been staying over with Morpheus and Niobe for the past five days, and Neo couldn't blame her. He knew she was crushed by Trinity's decision. To be quite honest, _he_ was crushed by Trinity's decision.

He was about to leave when there was a knock at the door. "Yes, I'm on my way out. Leave a message with…" But he didn't finish the sentence.

"Busy?"

Better known to Zion by the pet-name _Rorie _(except to the ever-ceremonious Morpheus who insisted on always using the _full_ name), Aurora smiled sweetly at her father as she peeked through the door with deep, curious brown eyes. Her daughter's most striking feature, Trinity had once described them as the reincarnation of Neo's gorgeous dark-chocolate orbs; kind, expressive, and strong. "They inspire absolute confidence," the mother had observed proudly. "They're a Saviour's eyes."

Needless to say, Rorie had a lot to live up to. And she had no intentions to disappoint. A vibrant and energetic young woman, the daughter of the acclaimed Zion war heroes had inherited her mother's natural affinity for the sciences, and none of her father's shyness for showing it off. Neo could seldom find her anywhere else besides the Loading Dock or the SRP labs. And, although he'd nagged her for years to try on a _dress_ once in a while, it was to no avail, and Rorie persistently 'borrowed' her mother's old army uniforms and sported them as vintage _haute couture_.

However, as Neo examined her today, he saw a rather strange compromise. He noticed that she wore none of Trinity's things, but rather a boat-necked peasant blouse, corseted to just below the breast in the contemporary Zionist style, along with a pair of breeches and knee-high worker's boots.

She was also complete mess, as always. Rorie's clothes and face were smudged with engine grease, and long, wild strands of raven hair exploded out from two large buns on either side of her head. Neo suspected that Niobe was responsible for the elaborate 'do.

"You know I'm never too busy for you." He took her warmly him his arms, resting a protective hand on the back of her head. "I was actually on my way to the Dock to see how you are… _Princess Leia_."

"Who?"

Neo chuckled. "You free-borns are so deprived. Next time Trin and I have a _Star Wars_ marathon, you should come."

"I hate watching movies with you two. I don't get the jokes and the code gives me a headache."

"We'll use the image translators, just for you."

"It's okay. It really isn't my thing."

Rorie pulled away from the embrace, avoiding eye contact. A silence passed between them and Neo as scrutinized some black smudges she'd left on his shirt. "Well, all I meant is that you look beautiful. You know I've missed you at home… so has your mother."

"Yeah, _well_." She closed the door behind her and looked at him gravely. "Daddy, I need your help."

Neo sat at the edge of his desk and folded his arms. He had a feeling that he was about to be placed in a rather difficult position. He was right.

"I want you to sign my application for admission to the army. If I'm lucky, they'll let me do scoutwork on the surface for an SRP science vessel."

"What?"

"I'm _through_ with the Academy. I can't stay there another year. Mother is driving me crazy and the other professors bore me to tears."

"Oh, Rorie." Neo shook his head. "You know I can't do that. Your mother…"

"Has gone insane? Yes, I've noticed." She sat Indian-style in one of the tall-backed marble seats that faced her father's desk. "Look, this is what I want. It's what I've always wanted. It doesn't matter if I don't finish the program. Any Captain in this force will take me in a heartbeat, you know that. Well… _almost_ any Captain." She sighed. "I should be out there… in the _field_, where I can do some good. I can't stand Zion. I feel so… _useless_ here."

Neo could empathize. Ever since the War ended twenty years ago, he and Trinity had discussed giving up the army, and they did for a while, after the baby was born. To keep busy, Trinity took on the initiative to build new ships and engineer more efficient technology to accommodate the increased influx of freed Targets. And Neo, after a frustrating year of dabbling in Zionist politics (what a mistake), took a sincere liking to teaching orphans to bend spoons and defy gravity in the constructs.

But after nearly a decade of their own version of domestic bliss, the 'retired' Saviours of Zion grew restless. Especially Trinity. Indeed, when Neo looked at his daughter now, he could see his wife ten years ago, itching to get her hands back on the controls of a ship, complaining of the miserable heat in Zion, and the slow, frustrating pace of her life. She wasn't happy then.

And so when Morpheus was finally offered a much-coveted position on the Council, Neo suggested that Trinity take over as Captain of the _Nebuchadnezzar, Mark IV no.1 (circa 2120)_, given the one condition that he be allowed to serve as her First Officer. It was simply a perfect solution. Indeed, it gave Morpheus nearly as much pleasure to give his ship to Trinity as it did her to take it.

For the first few years, their missions were short and intermittent, but their time away from the city gradually increased as Rorie became more independent. It was comfortable; army life was much safer than it used to be, save the occasional mischief caused by exiled programs from the Old System, and a few isolated incidents of rogue machine armies disturbing the peace in the sewers.

And now that Rorie was old enough, Neo was looking forward to showing his daughter the ropes (and, until recently, he thought Trinity shared that dream). She was a talented engineer and mechanic, and her extensive knowledge of biological life and environmental conditions on the surface made her a valuable asset to the new terraforming projects.

"My entire life I've known that this is what I'm _meant_ to do," Rorie continued. "I just need you to let me do it. Let me be the person I was always meant to become." She got up and took his hands in hers. "I am my father's daughter. And I'm not afraid of anything."

Neo shook his head and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. He had a feeling she'd rehearsed this speech before dropping by. He could imagine her standing in front of the mirror, trying to find the perfect words to convince him to endorse her application, to give her the key to a door to which she never thought she'd be denied entry in the first place. It broke his heart; Rorie needn't have bothered. He not only knew her frustration, he felt it as well.

Neo also knew that when she turned eighteen in a month, Rorie would no longer need his signature to do anything. She didn't come here because she needed his approval. She came here because she wanted to be sure of his support once Trinity found out what she was planning.

"I know, Rorie. I know. But this is not about _me_. I think the person you really want to say all of this to… is your mother."

Suddenly, his phone rang. Neither one moving, they stared at each other for a long moment as the loud buzzing sound pierced the silence. Five, six, seven rings. This person would not give up. Eventually, Neo unplugged it and looked back at his daughter. "Sorry."

"I can't talk to her. She won't even hear what I have to say."

"Give it time. She's just under a lot of pressure right now, that's all."

Rorie glanced over at the boxes on his desk. "Yeah, she has to choose which one of these wannabes would best serve as my replacement. I can't believe she's making _you_ sort them. Here, let me help." She closed her eyes a picked a handful of random disks out of the pile, and read the labels. "This guy is incompetent… this one, arrogant… this one arrogant _and_ incompetent… now that's a scary combination."

"Put those down and let me worry about it." Neo took the diskettes from her. "What are you doing for dinner tonight?"

"I usually eat on-site. Whatever's lying around."

"Yikes." Neo knew what that meant. Niobe had her eating Army Surplus Reserves. Gruel. "How about the two of us go out? Let your old Dad show you a good time."

"Don't want to go home, eh? Niobe has some space on the living room floor if you're interested."

Neo dipped his head to hide a smile. She could read him like a book. "No, I just miss you, that's all. And it will be a few weeks before we're back this time around."

The Neb was scheduled to leave Zion in a few days, and Neo wanted to make sure Rorie was okay before they left. Then again, it was probably in his best interests to iron out his differences with Trinity before they were forced into the more _confined_ living quarters aboard the ship. Indeed, maybe the person he should be showing a 'good time' to was his wife.

"I'd love to, Dad… really. But I should go now. Niobe asked me to help upgrade the hoverpads on the _Logos_. Have to earn my keep, right?" Rorie turned to leave, but then hesitated. "But I'm working late at the Dock tonight. Can you come by and see me? I think I could use the company. Gets lonely without Mom there. And stuff. You know how it is…"

Neo wanted to hold her and never let go. "I'll be there… promise." He kissed her forehead, tasting a salty mixture of sweat, grease and dirt on his lips.

_She becomes more like Trinity every day. _

"Thanks." Rorie put a disk on the corner of his desk. "And think about this, please. It's important to me." As she opened the door to leave, she added, "And tell Mom that I… tell her that I'm _fine_."

And with that, she was gone, leaving Neo with one more worrisome diskette to contemplate. He put Rorie's in his shirt pocket, and as he filed the rest of the applications back into their boxes, Neo thought about what best to do with the rest of his day. After a few moments of wrestling his pride against his better judgement, he resolved that he would go down to the market and get some ingredients for dinner. Trinity loved it when he cooked for her. Or she used to, back when he used to cook for her. He remembered a time when the two of them would consider it blasphemous to waste an evening alone, and he wished that the simple act of going home, drawing them a bath, and lighting a few candles would solve the problem. But he knew it wasn't that simple.

Their estrangement went beyond simple differences in parenting style. Trinity was different … she was distant, anxious, moody and sometimes, even cold. Something was bothering her, and she wouldn't tell him what it was. And she always told him what it was.

Neo hadn't felt this removed from her in a very long time. Not since they returned from the Machine City twenty years ago, after what was surely the most traumatic experience of their lives. Neo found it difficult to reconnect with Trinity after the War ended, after he'd already said goodbye _twice_, never expecting to see her again, or anyone else for that matter. Of course, in a fairy tale, the two lovers would have reunited as if nothing had happened, celebrated life as if they'd never truly lived it, and instantly embraced the opportunity to build a well-earned future together. But the price of Reality is that nothing is that simple, and their eventual happiness was the gradual product of a long period of healing for both of them.

As he left his office, Neo tried to decide what to cook for dinner, and what vintage Zionist liqueur his wife would enjoy with the meal. The oldest fermentations were actually quite good, and he had promised Trinity a long time ago that once he ended the War, they'd never have to drink WD-40 again (although they'd still occasionally do so on the ship, for old time's sake).

Settling on something dry and more than usually potent from the Lower Levels (_circa_ 2180 or perhaps earlier), Neo arrived at the elevators and summoned the lift. When the doors chimed open, however, he nearly jumped with surprise. Standing there, shattering his dreams of a candle-lit supper and a rare bottle of wine was Trinity herself, giving him a very impatient look.

"_Finally_. There you are." She pressed a button on the elevator and motioned for him to join her.

"Nice to see you, too, dear."

She let the doors close completely before delivering the news. "Neo, Elisa and Indira are both dead. In the field."

He caught his breath. "Oh, no. Ghost?"

"Apparently, he's fine. I don't know anything else. There's a meeting in the Conference room now. I had to come and _get_ you." She scowled. "Why in the hell isn't your phone working?"

"I've been having problems with it all day," Neo lied as he continued to stare straight ahead, hands clasped behind his back. He avoided looking at his wife's distorted reflection in the aluminium-plated doors. "I should really get it fixed."

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	3. Chapter 2

_**a/n:**_

_**Hello, everyone - here are chapters 2 and 3 together, because chapter 2 is quite short, and should be read with chapter 3, really. **_

_**Thank you all for your reviews, Rhiannon Reeves, this chapter 2 is dedicated to you for you were my second review! And Phantom Cleric - special thanks to you; your review was so sweet and touched me greatly. **_

_**Please enjoy this, I know it's a little depressing to have our two lovers at a distance from each other at such an early stage of the story, but I assure you there is method to my madness, and they shall find each other again. **_

_**Do keep in mind- they have been married for eighteen years, and have a daughter, so their relationship has changed a great deal. But they are very much in love, and we will see that, as it is one of the focal interests in this fiction- what true love can survive. (Theirs is the "old love" to which I refer in my God-awful summary)...**_

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_**Chapter 2**_

When the elevator doors opened, Trinity quickly brushed past him and headed for the conference room, eyes focussed on some distant location straight ahead, as if walking alone and with a purpose. Annoyed, Neo refused to chase her. He walked slowly, deliberately maintaining several paces behind.

_Oh, no please, Trin. I insist. After you…_

Trinity was clad in the old-style Zionist clothing, wearing a dark beige open-backed halter gown that loosely clung to her curves, draping elegantly to the ground. The hems were subtly gilt in a lace of gold leaf and embroidered with tiny jade beads, both of which were popular additions to the recent garments. Her minimalist jewellery was selected to match: wide, dangling earrings and solid hoop necklace, both made of a marble-like mixture of creamy white and deep, emerald-green jade, set in gold. Far from ostentatious, the ensemble was rather _understated_ by present Zionist standards. That is, after twenty years of relative peace, the fashion-conscious city had enthusiastically embraced the finer elements of life with a vengeance.

To Neo's surprise, Trinity didn't seem to resist a touch of vanity in her life. Several decades in the army had apparently made her weary of rags, and so whenever the Neb docked, she made sure to dress her part as an influential Zion elite. He certainly didn't mind. She looked divine, like a kind of ethereal goddess, or ancient queen from the Far East. Indeed, by Zion's social standards, these parallels would not be inappropriate; the city revered Trinity as much as it worshipped Neo himself. And, as Trinity found that she was incapable of escaping the attention, she'd eventually learned to live with it. Fashionably.

While his wife continued to march ahead of him through the meandering maze of tunnels, Neo let his eyes trace a slow line along the trail of metallic plugs on her spine. As she moved confidently and with grace, chiselled shoulder blades jutted from her back, moving synchronously with the smooth sway of her hips. Over the years, Trinity's body had become as familiar to him as his own but in this moment, her beauty seemed strangely foreign to him. She was not _his_ Trinity, but an exotic, untouchable stranger, statue-like in aesthetic appeal and proud dignity, remote and unattainable. Even to _him_.

Neo couldn't recall the last time his fingers had teased a slow, meandering line between the plugs on her back, or the last time his lips had lingered on the ivory perfection of her skin. Only that it had been much _too_ long since he'd allowed himself the luxury of taking his time while loving her. Neo frowned. He should be ashamed of himself for not indulging in such a gift.

He tried to remember when things began to change between them. Months ago. Could it have been that long? Neo didn't know. He only knew that somewhere along the way, she'd stopped sleeping with one arm casually folded on his chest, and he no longer expected her to wake him with kisses and soft whispers spoken against his skin. They still made love, but it wasn't the same. Neo always felt that she was somewhere else, worried, anxious, unhappy. It broke his heart to not be able to please her.

The vast conference room was nearly empty, except for Morpheus, Niobe and Ghost who were standing in a small cluster near the end of the councillor's table. Morpheus was wearing the long, priestly robes of a senior council member, and the other two were dressed in standard captain's red V-neck uniforms. Their hushed conversation echoed off the walls.

When Trinity saw Ghost with a bandage around his torso, she quickened her pace, nearly breaking into a run. "Ghost, oh my _God_."

"I'm fine."

"I'm so sorry." She touched his arm gently, squeezing it a little. "What happened to you?"

Ghost looked over her shoulder to see Neo walking towards them, a rather depressed expression on his face. He waited a few seconds for him to join their circle before beginning.

"We were attacked by a program. A fast one." He exhaled harshly. "And he _looked_ like an agent."

Neo noticed that Trinity's hand was still on Ghost's arm, and he felt something inside his mind snap. He tried to concentrate on the conversation. "Excuse me, he_ looked_ like an agent?"

Ghost's eyes vacillated between Neo and Trinity uncertainly, apparently noticing something was wrong. He took a subtle step back from Trinity and regarded the husband with a renewed professionalism. "Yes, but not like any agent that the new operators would know how to identify. His code would suggest that his program was derived from the Old System." Ghost hesitated for a moment before delivering the punch-line. "Neo, he called himself _Smith_."

There was a long silence as the name hung in the air like thick smoke. Trinity tried to find Neo's eyes but they were fixed on some distant point on the wall. She wanted to touch him, to take his hand in hers, but something in his face told her not to.

"That's a name I haven't heard in a very long time," Neo mumbled.

"Yes, well apparently, he missed you too," Ghost continued. "He killed two of my crew and then sent me back to deliver a message to quote: _'Mr. and Mrs. Thomas A. Anderson'._"

"Well, it _sounds_ like him." Neo was still looking at the wall. "Let's hear it, then."

"He said that he wants to help you."

"What?" Niobe raised an eyebrow. "_Help_ them do what?"

"End the War. Those were his words exactly."

The captain of the Logos smirked, but her voice was dead-pan. "Sounds like the guy's been out of the loop a bit too long. Maybe we should send him a MEMO: The War is _Over_."

"Niobe, two people are dead. I'd hardly say the War is over," Trinity said, finally taking her attention from her husband.

"In any event, I hardly think that helping us is his intention." Morpheus stated the obvious. "Has the Oracle said anything about this?"

Neo shook his head.

After a long silence, Niobe looked at Trinity and carefully remarked, "I can spare my own crews to help out with your upgrades. They're ready on your request."

"Yes, Thank you, Niobe. And thank my _daughter_ for her help, on my behalf."

Niobe shifted uncomfortably, but held Trinity's eyes. "We're lucky to have her."

Trinity jumped when she felt Neo's hand on her back. He gave her a nudge towards the door. "Let's go." He nodded to the other three. "We'll be in touch. Morpheus, I'd advise that we suspend all unnecessary broadcasting until we get to the bottom of this."

"It is already done."

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	4. Chapter 3

_**a/n:**_

_**- to Phantom Cleric; I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy "Revenge of the Smith..."

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_**Chapter 3**_

"What happened to your top?" Trinity held up the soiled shirt and bit her lower lip, a pile of other laundry at her feet.

"I've been making love to another woman, Trinity. We like to do it in the boiler room." Neo walked out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, hair wet from the shower.

Trinity frowned, displeased with his sarcastic non-response to her question. "Well, I hope she was worth it. The top is ruined now. Might as well use it on the ship. I'll pack it."

"It's okay. I can handle my own packing." He took the shirt from her and felt around for the diskette that he'd put in the breast pocket earlier that day. Thankfully, it was still there. He balled up the unwashed garment and shoved it in his duffle-bag.

"You'll fit more if you _fold_ them, you know."

Neo had the word 'nag' at the tip of his tongue but he held it in. He didn't want to fight with her; he just wanted to get some sleep. "Thank you for the advice, Trinity."

"You are very welcome, Neo."

"Stop it." Neo put on a pair of thin cotton draw-string pants and hung the towel to dry. "I'm tired."

He got into bed, moodily throwing the sheets over his body, shifting himself to the very edge of the mattress. Trinity's heart jumped into her throat at the realization that he was trying to keep as far away from her as possible. Part of her wanted to hit him, the other part wanted to cry. Both parts wanted to make love to him in a way that he wouldn't forget in a long time, if only to remind him of what he was missing. It hurt her to know that she'd sooner sleep with him out of spite than love. Because she did love him. She loved him more than he'd probably believe, given the last few days.

As she removed her necklace and earrings at the dresser, Trinity found herself staring into the mirror, scrutinizing the subtle lines around her eyes and the tired, pasty dullness of her skin. She looked awful. The past few months had aged her immensely and for the first time in her life, she _looked_ like a woman in her mid forties. Time had been kinder to Neo, she thought, glancing into the corner of the mirror at his inverted image. He was sitting upright again, shifting the covers around his hips, propping his pillow into place. Broad shoulders and large, strong arms held her attention for a few moments, then well-defined pectorals and abs.

_God, he still looks so damn good. _

Trinity spun her wedding band around her finger and whispered a curse. Then, to his reflection in the mirror, "I'm sorry."

"Hm?"

She turned to face him, and walked over to his side of the bed. "I said I'm sorry." She sat down and took his hand in hers. "Please, Neo."

For the first time in several days, Neo let his eyes return home to the lovely, crystal blue they so dearly missed. But what he saw was unwelcome, even to the weary traveller. Such Sorrow.

"Trin… come to bed."

His emotionally estranged wife lingered next to him for a few seconds, apparently debating her next move carefully before she yielded to his request, climbing over the mattress and sitting next to him. With a gentleness she hadn't shown in weeks, Trinity took his face in her hands, and brushed his hair back from his forehead. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "God, I miss you..."

Neo found her mouth and kissed her deeply and softly, tongue lingering on her bottom lip. He felt her warm tears on his cheek. He pulled away, and wiped wetness from under her eyes. He wanted to ask her again, what was wrong. But he knew he wouldn't get the answer that he wanted, and if he heard her lie to him one more time about it, he knew he'd get up and leave.

So instead, he kissed her again, this time with more intensity, trying desperately to talk to her without words, trying to remind her of who he was, what they were. Her mouth was hot, greedy with his, pulling him in feverishly. She took his hands in her own and lifted them to the knot behind her neck that held her dress together. "Please…" she breathed.

He ran his hand down her back, fingers dancing along the line he'd traced with his eyes earlier that day. "Turn around."

She didn't smile, but she did follow instructions, facing away from him, leaning back into his arms. He kissed her shoulders and back first, executing the very fantasy that he'd imagined only six hours ago, taking his time, just as he promised himself he would. His lips caressed her soft skin, and his knowing hands massaged the tension from her muscles. As his fingers finally found their way back to the knot at the base of her neck, Neo buried his face in her hair. Eyes closed, he slowly, teasingly untangled the fabric, losing himself in the subtle scent of her and in the familiar rhythm of her breathing.

When the dress came loose, Neo caressed the fabric off her shoulders and down her torso, deliberately brushing the fullness of her breast. Trinity took his hands in hers, interlaced their fingers, and leaned back further into his lap. She had decided she wasn't going to ask and this was clearly not the time, but she had to. She couldn't let herself go until she knew. "Neo, did you see her today?"

When he didn't reply, Trinity turned to face him, and rested a hand on his chest. With pleading eyes, "Is she alright, Neo? Did she say when she's coming home?"

_Did you tell her that I love her, Neo? Please, just tell me that she doesn't hate me... tell me she's coming back and it's going to be alright... _

"Oh, _no_," he threw his hand up to his forehead. Trinity's question suddenly reminded him of the promise he'd made to Rorie that afternoon. He'd completely forgotten. "Shit. What time is it?"

"What?"

Neo checked the digital clock on the nightstand. It was early yet. He had time. Trinity still in his arms, Neo vacillated for a moment, weighing his two options carefully. She was half-naked, for goodness' sake. And they both needed this, _tonight_, before they left for the sewers in the morning (things left as they were between them, Neo would rather share the Neb with a sentinel). This was a sexual treaty pledging a temporary cease-fire, and they both knew it. Leaving would be nothing short of diplomatic suicide.

But the look in his daughter's eyes that afternoon... so big and brown and … Neo cursed under his breath. Just as he had twenty years ago, The One knew that he had to follow his heart. He had to trust what felt _real_, even if it killed him (and this time, it probably would).

"Trin, I'm so sorry. I have to go."

She stared at him in disbelief. "_Excuse_ me?"

"Rorie. She wanted to talk to me about something tonight… and I forgot." He got out of bed and started to change into his clothes, avoiding eye contact with his rejected lover. He didn't have to see it to know how she was looking at him right now. He could imagine her mouth ajar, cheeks burning as she fumbled to tie her dress. Hurt, offended… probably humiliated. He could imagine her wanting to throw something straight at his head. She would be right to; he certainly deserved it. He was a fool for leaving, but he couldn't bear the idea of Rorie working alone under the hull of some ship, wondering where he was.

"I'm so sorry, Trin," he said again.

"Well, what's wrong? Is she alright?" Trinity pulled the sheets around her chest. "Talk about what?"

"She's fine. Really, she's okay. It's nothing serious. It's just…" Neo found it difficult to even explain why he was leaving. Even _he_ didn't completely understand the decision.

"So call her, just tell her that-"

"She needs me." He struggled to get his boots on. "Well, she needs _someone_ and we're leaving tomorrow as it is."

"Well, I need someone, too."

The pure selfishness of the statement set alarm bells of in his head. It was so unlike her that Neo couldn't help himself. "So call Ghost."

"Wh- _What_?"

The moment he saw the expression on her face Neo knew that he'd crossed a line. She'd _never_ looked at him like that before. He felt sick. "Trin, I didn't mean that-"

"Is that what you think is going on here? That's your _brilliant_ analysis? I'm _fucking_ Ghost?"

"No, I don't-"

"Well, I feel really _stupid_." She struggled to untangle herself from the sheets. "This whole time I thought this was about my being a bad mother. But I'm an adulterous wife now, too?"

Neo knew that any such accusation was ridiculous. And, although Trinity wouldn't believe him if he told her this, he didn't even intend the statement to imply a romantic connection. But she had spent a lot of time in Ghost's company these past few weeks, and the more she drifted away from Neo, the more dependant she seemed to become on Ghost's companionship. Their friendship had always been very close, and Neo never minded it before (on the contrary, he considered Ghost an extended member of his family), but lately he felt as if he'd been replaced emotionally, that Trinity had pledged her most intimate confidence to another man. It was psychological adultery, and he begrudged them both the connection he'd lost.

"No… I'm sorry. Of course not, Trinity." Neo took a few steps towards her, but she dodged away as if he had just struck her and was about to do it again. "I didn't mean that. And I don't think you're a bad mother, for God's sake."

She turned from him, and Neo knew she was hiding tears. His own weren't far behind.

"Trin. Please, look at me. Come here. I'm sorry. I truly am. I just feel like... You talk to _him_ more than you do me, and it hurts. Why can't you talk to _me?"_

"Because you're not hearing what I have to say. I don't want her out there, Neo. It's dangerous. Two of our colleagues died today. Isn't that enough to convince you that I'm right?"

"So that brings this year's casualties to an even _four_, if you include the system malfunction that killed Cereus and his partner six months ago. Trinity, this is what she wants. It's what we wanted for her…"

"No, Neo." Trinity spun around, a renewed stoniness in her eyes, voice steady and committed. "Have you forgotten? Have you forgotten what we've been through? I've died… _twice_ for this city. So have you. We took those bullets so that she wouldn't have to!"

"That was a long time ago."

"No. We have given enough. It's _enough_. The way I see it, Zion owes us one. And _this_ is the one thing…" Her voice broke. "_She_ is the one thing that I choose not to sacrifice. I just can't. If you only knew what it would feel like to lose her…" She raised a shaking hand to her forehead, consciously willing herself to be calm.

"Trinity, it doesn't matter anymore. In a month, we aren't going to have a choice."

"What?"

Neo sighed as he retrieved his shirt from the duffle bag. He produced a diskette from the pocket. "She's dropping out. This is her application for admission to the army."

Trinity took the disk from him, and examined it as if she'd never seen one before. "She came to you with this? When?"

"Today. She wanted me to endorse it."

"Did you?"

"Of course not. But in a few months it won't matter anyway. She's going to do this with or without your consent. Had you just accepted her in the first place, at least she'd be on the Neb with _us_."

Trinity walked past him, finally managing to tie her dress behind her neck properly. "Where is she?"

"Trinity, it's late."

"_Tell me where she is. _Where? The Dock, right?" She slipped on a pair of shoes, grabbed her keys and paused at the door, waiting for an answer. When she didn't get one, she interpreted his silence as affirmation.

In a second, Trinity was on the catwalk, marching determinedly towards the elevators. She passed several groups of pedestrians, many of whom greeted her with a polite nod, only to be ignored or pushed out of her way. Hardly over the initial shock of Trinity's misconduct, they were then practically knocked over by The One himself, half-dressed and stumbling over the laces of the single boot he wore, hollering his wife's name in vain.

Neo reached the elevators just in time to see the doors close between Trinity and him. "Goddammit!" He threw his arms up in frustration. By this time a small crowd had gathered around the spectacle, and the whispers were far from subtle. He just knew he was going to be reading about this in the online newspapers the next day:

'_Dishevelled Zion Saviour Shafted at Elevators: Captain Trinity goes AWOL.'_

Neo glared at the people surrounding him as if the offending headline he'd just envisioned had actually been a group effort. He hated the press. A long time ago, Neo had taught them the _hard_ way to leave his daughter alone but unfortunately, the more daring reporters still saw The One and his wife as fair game. Realizing that provoking them would only provide more fodder for the gossip-mongers, he quickly mustered his wits, deciding to take himself and what little dignity he had left to the stairs. He doubted they'd have the stamina to follow him all the way up to the Dock. Besides, he needed some time to cool off. The last thing poor Rorie needed right now was _two_ unstable parents dragging a media circus to her place of work. Best to let Trinity go ahead, and then try and pick up the pieces afterwards. He had a feeling that none of them were going to get much sleep that night.

_Pray, Smith. Pray hard that my mood somehow improves before tomorrow. _

With slumped shoulders and a heavy heart, The One began his thirty-three level climb up the hot, poorly-ventilated stairwell.

_Maybe I'll just send Trinity in after him. The way she's going, the poor bastard won't stand a chance… _

* * *


	5. Chapter 4

_**a/n:**_

_**-Well, I'm in an amazingly good mood: Agent Bunny made my day with a dazzlingly romantic, colourful new installment of "Finding Purpose." Bravo! This chapter is dedicated to your, for your talent, and because you told me you like Trinity... **_

* * *

_**Chapter 4**_

Trinity heard her husband's emphatic curse as the doors slammed shut, leaving her alone in the confined space of the elevator, finger frantically pressing the 'Level 3-Loading Dock' button. A keen inertial force pressed down on her shoulders as the lift travelled up, and this grounding weight, compounded by months of built-up emotional and physical tension, somehow broke her will to stand. Within seconds, her body slumped to the floor and tears streamed down her cheeks. An uncontrollable wave of sobs ensued, and all Trinity could think to do was reach up and push the Emergency Stop.

Frozen halfway between a troubled marriage and a heartbroken daughter, Trinity felt trapped and claustrophobic. More than that, she felt alone. She knew now that she should have taken Ghost's advice, that he had been right when he told her to tell Neo the truth. That he deserved to know. His counsel was the same now as it had been when he first offered it all those years ago, just before she and Neo left for the Machine City. But it didn't seem to matter then; she didn't expect to live long enough for it to matter.

All that mattered was keeping Neo safe, for his sake, and for the salvation of Zion. Or, possibly for a more selfish reason? Perhaps she simply was not ready to let him go, and was prepared to lay down her life for an extra hour, thirty minutes, even twenty seconds in his arms. Trinity decided that the truth was probably an obscure, homogeneous mixture of such compartmentalized ideals. Indeed, even after countless hours of reliving that horrible day, bleary-eyed from sleepless nights of crying on Ghost's shoulder, scrutinizing, rationalizing, and philosophising, Trinity still couldn't elevate one motive above the others. And in the end, she didn't have to. The details of her wretched analysis could never change the conclusion. For Neo, for Zion, for herself… Trinity made up her mind to go with him, to die with him in the Machine City. Fundamentally, the only human life for which Trinity showed no concern was that of her unborn child. Neo's child. And in the end, that child's life was the only casualty of the mission.

Had Neo been faced with the same choice, Trinity was certain things would have been different. If he had known she was pregnant, he never would have allowed her to go with him. Twenty years ago, Trinity might have told herself that she was sparing Neo the anguish of knowing that they'd conceived a baby that he'd never hold in his arms, whose cries he'd never hear, whose love he'd never realize. But an older, less self-righteous version of herself suspected that she'd kept the truth from him in order to get her own way. The idea of raising his son or daughter without him was unthinkable, and so Trinity resolved that the fate of the baby must be tied to Neo's life.

To this day, the only person she'd ever told was Ghost. Less than an hour before leaving with her lover on a mission from which neither expected to return, Trinity felt she needed to tell someone; it was a necessary comfort to know that the baby would be remembered. So, with a mixture of joy and sorrow, Trinity confided in her closest friend, and she will never forget what his reaction had been. He touched her stomach and held her close, impossibly close, with a kind of elation and grief that told her that he already knew why she was telling him and not Neo. He already knew she wasn't coming back. When Trinity cried he kissed her eyes and forehead, and whispered, "God, Trin. I'm so happy. That's just wonderful." And then he kissed her again.

He did what Neo would have done. And he said what Neo would have said. Ghost never called her _Trin_ before that day, and he'd never called her that since. Perhaps she'd misheard him, or maybe she just remembered it wrong. But something told Trinity that Ghost used that pet name purposefully to create the illusion that in that moment, he was not himself, but the man she so desperately wanted him to be.

If Trinity could do it all again, she would have told Neo, if only to relive that moment in _his_ arms, to feel his breath on her forehead, his tears on her neck. Indeed, the guilt of having lost the baby was tangled with the shame of knowing she'd unjustly denied Neo the occasion to mourn the loss that was theirs to share. When they both came back form 01, resurrected, reborn, and irreparably scarred, Trinity didn't see the point of telling him. It seemed somehow selfish to give Neo such grief, only to clear her conscience, to confess her Great Sin… that their child was dead, and it was all her fault.

Trinity had never known anything like the agony of losing that baby. Great jubilation in Zion had heralded the end of the War, and endless celebrations honoured the city's returning heroes. But Trinity remembered nothing but a numb blur of stolen moments, desolation in the midst of revelry, apathy in the centre of parades that to her, were more like funeral processions. She felt empty, incapable of feeling anything but a hollow pain and despair, and an unshakable contempt for her own lack of substance. And, although she laboured tirelessly to put the loss behind her, for Neo's sake, for the sake of their happiness together, Trinity knew that she'd become a different person.

She wondered now if Neo had ever thought of leaving her. She wouldn't blame him if he had. They were not happy. Trinity knew that Neo had suffered his own private horror after the War ended, and it broke her heart to know that he had endured it alone. Perhaps, more than anything else, it was their mutual isolation that bound them together, Trinity thought. She remembered how they had devoured one another's bodies without joy, but rather with a common need, a shared desperation. So many times, after working nearly endless hours to rebuild the city's fleet and infrastructure, they did not go home, but remained at the Dock to have sex on the cold steel grating in the storage hangers. Sometimes they wouldn't even kiss.

Too many memories still lingered between their sheets of two people who no longer existed, fallen angels, sentinels of a love that had taught them what it was to be alive - what it was to _feel_. Returning to their shared home, to their bed, would have been somehow adulterous, an invasion of the sanctity that had once existed between them. She knew Neo felt it, too. Things had changed. _They_ had changed.

When Trinity became pregnant with Rorie, they hadn't been living together for months. On the day she knew for sure, the day the doctors confirmed it (several times by her request), Trinity hadn't even spoken to Neo in several days, and an entire 36 sleepless hours passed before she could bring herself to tell him the news. She stood outside his door for a long time, exhausted, a pounding headache in her ears, just praying that he would be happy. That somehow, they'd find a way to be happy together.

_It's going to be alright, Trinity. It has to be. It's Neo... it's _Neo_. It isn't too late. He loves you, Trinity. He still loves you. He has to. _

As her hand reached up to knock at his door, Neo's voice startled her from behind. "Hey!"

She spun about, surprised to find him on the catwalk and not in his apartment. Trinity remembered that Neo had looked about ten years older than his true age that night. The rims of his eyes were red, and he hadn't shaved in a few days. Moreover, she could tell he'd been drinking. Recalling some rumours she'd heard about her estranged lover frequenting some of the more obscure, discreet bars on the Lower Levels on a nightly basis, she wondered if he drank alone.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Trinity's mouth opened but no sound came out. His question, which sounded more like an accusation, hit her like a slap in the face. Neo must have noticed her reaction to it, because he immediately softened his voice as he met her outside his door. "I mean, I'm just surprised to find you here. That's all. It's late."

"Then maybe I should go."

"Oh, come on. Don't be…" Neo stopped abruptly and sighed. His keys jingled in his hand. "Well, come in. If we're going to fight, we might as well do it inside."

He held the door open, but Trinity didn't move. She heard her voice speaking as if it were someone else's. It was shaky and raw with emotion that she was normally able to contain. "Is that why you think I came here tonight, Neo? To…_ fight _with you?" Trinity didn't even realize she was crying until she tasted her own tears on her lips. Her vision blurred, and she felt an acute wave of nausea pass over her. "Oh… God."

Neo's voice seemed to come from a great distance. "No… I'm sorry. I didn't mean that seriously. Hey, what's the matter?"

"Neo…" Suddenly dizzy, she reached out for the railing on the catwalk for support but missed it. When she realized she was about to fall, Trinity called out his name again, this time with more urgency. "Neo…!"

She didn't remember his catching her as she collapsed, or that he carried her to the elevator and rushed her to the army med-bay. He called her name over and over as she lay limp in his arms, perspiration covering her ashen face.

That night would prove to be one of the longest he would ever know. As Neo sat by her bedside waiting for the prognosis, he cursed himself repeatedly. The image of Trinity crying just before her fall was driving him mad; his heart literally ached with self-reproach.

"Neo?" An older woman with short titian hair and a white lab-coat quickly walked up to him, offering her hand. Her shake was firm and her voice even. "My name is Xhanga Wray; Trinity's physician. I have good news. It looks like they're both going to be just fine."

Neo nodded, relieved. Then, "Both?"

"Trinity fainted, which isn't altogether unusual. She also has a fever, which we're getting down now. But she and the baby should be alright. We're giving her something to help her sleep." The doctor looked down at her computerized chart and poised her pen as if to write. "Tell me, has she been under any stress lately? I told her to take it easy from now on."

For an instant, Neo was dumbfounded. Then he went from thinking that there must be some mistake, to concluding that the far more likely explanation was that that Trinity was pregnant and hadn't told him. His chest constricted when he realized that she'd probably come to his apartment that night with the intention of giving him the news.

"Oh my God."

"Sir?" Dr. Wray quickly pulled up a chair and guided Neo to it. "You look sick. Are you alright?" She crouched down to put a hand on his forehead.

"Oh my God," Neo repeated, going from looking devastated to stifling an involuntary chuckle, to covering his eyes to hide tears. "I can't believe it."

The doctor squeezed his hand. "It's alright. She gave us a bit of a scare. But the baby's fine. You can sit with her until she wakes up."

For six hours Neo waited by Trinity's bedside, going through every imaginable emotion, analyzing the situation from every possible angle. This pregnancy was nothing short of miraculous. Trinity had been told in no uncertain terms after their return from 01 that to have children was practically impossible. And how ironic that such a blessing should happen _now_. Neo considered that in many ways, they were unworthy of such a miracle. If the ghosts of their past selves could see what they had become, Neo knew that they'd be disgusted. They wouldn't even recognize themselves.

Ever since the war ended, he'd felt so empty, as if a piece of himself had died in the Machine City. He recognized it in Trinity as well. Their apparent Purpose fulfilled, what possible reason could there be for them to return to Zion? Yesterday, Neo couldn't imagine there was anything left for him to live for. But this news… this baby. It changed everything. It changed _him_.

He looked down at Trinity's porcelain features, pale and angelic as she lay sleeping in the hospital bed. If she'd only take me back, he thought. _If she could only love me again…_ _just give me a second chance… __I'd find a way to make her happy… _

Suddenly, Trinity's eyes flickered open. Her fingers moved in his hand. "Neo?"

He brushed some hair back from her forehead. He tried to find words, but none would come.

"Where am I?"

"You're at the med bay," Neo said, finally managing a coherent thought. "You fainted. Remember? Outside my place…"

Trinity suddenly gasped, her eyes snapped opened completely and she sprung into a sitting position. Her hand instinctively flew to her stomach. "I have to see a doctor."

"It's okay."

Panic-stricken, she shook her head. "No, you don't understand. I need-"

"_The baby is fine."_

Trinity could only stare at him. Relief and surprise and confusion. She began to cry.

"Trin," Neo whispered, "It's okay. You're okay…" His voice broke. "Our baby is okay."

She blinked back her emotion, apparently pulling her thoughts together. "Xhanga told you."

He nodded.

"Neo, I was about to-"

"I know." He touched her face, gently using his thumb to wipe tears from her eyes. "I know. Trin… I'm so sorry. _I'm so sorry_." His bowed his head down between his shoulders, surrendering everything, conceding everything to her.

Trinity's fingers ran through his hair. "No. Look at me."

He met her eyes, still mumbling tearful apologies.

"_Shhh_. No." She shook her head. "Don't tell me you're sorry." She pulled him closer and inched herself towards the edge of the bed until her arms were completely around him, his head on her shoulder. "Oh Neo, don't tell me you're sorry."

He held her tight, feeling the once familiar pressure of her breasts against his chest, the heat from her body saturating him like no other woman's ever could. "I miss you, Trin. I miss you so much."

"_God, I know."_

Neo kissed each of her eyelids, then her nose and cheeks. Trinity took his hand and guided it to her stomach as she whispered, "Just tell me that you're happy."

"I'm happy." Their lips connected for what seemed to be the first time in years as the long-separated lovers clung to each other, both painfully aware of the fragility of their bliss. It was to be the beginning of what each of them would consider the _second_ great romance of their lives. In many ways, it would prove to eclipse the first.

There was never any doubt in Trinity's mind that Aurora had saved them. Had saved _her_. As far as she was concerned, the baby was nothing less than spiritual absolution, a divine mercy, exculpating past Sin and blessing a new life. Indeed, it was only when she first looked into her daughter's eyes that she was able to finally let go of the child she'd lost only two years before.

How could Trinity have known that now, a generation later, this ghost would come back to haunt her? An unhappy spirit, buried in the past without sound, without ceremony, without a father – was this hell fitting enough revenge? _Is this some sort of cosmic justice?_ Trinity wondered as she sat suspended over fifty levels up in the stationary elevator. _What more could the Universe possibly want from me? _

The recurring nightmare plagued her sleep, tormenting her every time she allowed herself a moment's rest. She was back on the _Logos_, in the Machine City, only moments before The End. At first, everything was exactly as she remembered it, the smell the sulphur in the air, the hard metal grating on her back, the taste her own blood in her mouth. But then, as Trinity's heart thudded irregularly in her chest and the horrible cold spread throughout her body, something happened that was far more devastating than the black abyss that had ripped her from her lover's arms that day. What she felt instead was a sensation as wonderful and unmistakable as Neo's lips on her skin, or the hum of the Neb's controls at her fingertips.

It began with butterfly wings: the same tiny flutter that had caught her by surprise one morning, nearly five months into her pregnancy. This was nothing more than a whisper, a private 'hello' from child to mother, almost imperceptible in its subtlety. But these gentle palpitations were fleeting; they quickly became a much more defined series of shifts and thumps below her ribcage, which in turn developed into the characteristic kicks and tumbles that were so uniquely, perfectly, unequivocally _Rorie_. As Trinity lay pinned to the Logos' cockpit floor, the intricate choreography of her daughter's most intimate communications to her played out like a slideshow of stolen moments, detailed snapshots of her most cherished memories.

There was nothing Trinity could do to prevent it, to stop the sequence of events from reaching the ending she knew was inevitable. She couldn't move, or scream, or even cry. As if by telepathy, Trinity sensed Rorie's panic. The jerks were painful, erratic, desperate. Neo's grief-stricken voice echoed off the hull of the mangled ship:

"Oh, God, Trin. What have you done? Why, oh… _why_ did you bring her here?"

It was impossible for Trinity to believe that it was, in fact, only a dream. The experience was too intense, the colours too vivid, the sensations too haunting for them to be merely inventions of the subconscious, manifestations of a mother's guilt and insecurity. No, Trinity decided, it was more than that. It was a premonition of some kind, a warning or Prophecy of what was to come. Something… or _someone_ was sending her a message.

To explain the full significance of this nightmare to her husband would be to tell him everything, to tell him a secret that she thought she'd escaped a long time ago. It was an artefact of the lives they'd buried in order to rebuild upon the ruins. Knowing would only hurt him; Trinity knew that. And what possible good would it do Neo to know? This was her burden, not his.

Trinity thought of something the Oracle had told her, back when Rorie was only a child. Words that were so benign then, but in the present context, took on a much more sinister meaning.

_It can't be a coincidence. That woman knew something. She knew this was going to happen. _

"This is Control to Elevator 3-1. We have you frozen on the way to Loading Dock Ground Level. Do you require assistance?"

Startled by the loud, abrupt voice coming from the emergency intercom, Trinity stammered to her feet. She took a deep breath before answering with the smooth, calm voice she always managed to command when she needed it most.

"That's a negative, Mr. Conrad." She forced a touch of light-heartedness into her tone. "I was just taking my twenty-minutes' vacation for this year."

There were static-broken chuckles from several members of the Control crew. "Ah, that must be Captain Trinity. Honoured to have you aboard, ma'am. Would you like to extend that leave of absence, or should we send you on your way to the Dock?"

She hesitated for only an instant before she pressed the button marked 'level-103' and raised her security-pass to the detector. "Neither, thank you. I'm heading home for the night."

As the elevator jerked back into motion, Trinity's eyes hardened with resolve.

_This time she is going to give me real answers_, she decided. _And this is going to end, one way or another._

* * *


	6. Chapter 5

_**a/n:**_

_**- Hello, all - thanks for your lovely reviews! This is a much lighter chapter, in contrast to the rather dark interior monologue from the elevator. There a few French phrases in this chapter, so I've provided a translation at the end. **_

_**- Oh, ChiaraStorm, this chapter is dedicated to you, b/c this piece is meant as an answer to your question to me (ie: with who?)**_

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_**Chapter 5**_

Rorie was lying flat underneath the massive hull of the Neb, squinting as she picked though the complicated electrical work in the ship's aft pads. After staring at it non-stop for the better part of the afternoon, she was starting to see double. "Hey, Knight," she called out. "Can you come over here?"

A tall young man with a curly mess of dirty blonde hair knelt down and peeked under the hull. "Yeah?"

"What the hell is this?"

He slid under the ship and shone his penlight up into the tangle of multicoloured wires. "It's… uhm… oh, that's bubblegum," he stated matter-of-factly, as if ships were made of it. "Holds the electrical away from the condensation that accumulates on the sides of the ship. My invention."

"Well, if that's the case, I'd ask you to remove it," Rorie grabbed a rag out of her back pocket and wiped grease from between her fingers. "Try some tape next time."

"But gum _tastes_ better." He picked the sticky rubber glob off the wires. "Here, you try it."

He tired to force it into her mouth, but Rorie turned her face just in time, letting out a surprised scream. "No! Get _away_!"

"Just _try_ it!"

She caught his wrist and ripped the gum from his hand, rolling it up in her greasy rag. "Mother would kill you if she saw gum on her ship- she'd make you _lick_ the hull clean."

"Oh, Trin wouldn't do that. You know… underneath that cold outer shell, she _loooo-ves_ me too much."

Save Neo, Knight was the only person alive who ever got away with using Trinity's shortened name. He'd picked it up from Neo when he was just a child, back when Trinity couldn't find it in her heart to correct him. Of course, now that he was older, she had told Knight more than once that he was only to use her pet-name in the company of family members. Occasionally, he would slip and address her informally at a public gathering or on the ship, a mistake that was always met with the same dangerous glare of icy blue, followed by Knight's stuttered, clumsy apologies.

Neo had spotted the outspoken young boy online when he was only twelve. By that time, Knight had dug his way into some of the more exclusive hackers' circles. Of course, nobody else there knew he was less than half their age. He posed as a wealthy thirty-five year old computer engineer from Miami Beach, Florida who had made it big in silicone-valley. His profile stated that his interests included 'wind-surfing, martinis, fast cars, and faster women.' Neo smirked. The kid had never set foot outside his home-town of _Abitibi-Témiscamingue_, a small rural village in southern _Québec_.

"And the last thing we need in the army is more _Canadians_," Neo had joked over breakfast one morning. He loved to tease the Montréal-born Trinity about her roots. "Not that the little Eskimo wouldn't be at home in the _cold_."

"Just because you can't pronounce the name of the town…"

"I don't know what you're talking _aboot_, _eh_?"

"Oh, shut-up Neo."

On the night they unplugged him, Neo ceremoniously preformed the first officer's duty of delivering the Target to Trinity, who was waiting with the pills. The late-November snow had turned to sleet, and Knight was drenched from head to tow, hair matted to his head, teeth chattering in the cold. His oversized plaid shirt clung to his bony shoulders and hung past his knees.

Trinity removed her leather trench coat and wrapped it around him. Taking off her sunglasses and kneeling down to his level, she said in his native tongue, "_Bonjour, mon petit prince du nord_. It's nice to finally meet you. My name is Trinity."

He looked at her with bright hazel eyes, flecked with gold, and smiled beatifically. Then he spoke to Neo. "You were right. The legends _are_ true."

"And what _legends_ would those be?" she asked, fully expecting to hear the standard Kansas-City IRS-D base story… _again_.

The young boy grinned bashfully. "That you're very beautiful. _Comme… une rose __du nord._" And then he wrapped his arms around her neck, and for a moment she doubted he'd ever let go.

And in many ways, he never did. Although Knight technically lived at the Orphanage until he was eighteen, he spent more time as part of Trinity's family than anywhere else.

Not that he was ever actually _invited_, as Neo often commented with dry humour, eyeing his wife with an unspoken inside joke. Indeed, from the moment Knight opened his eyes for the first time, tucked snugly in a cot on the Neb, head nestled in Trinity's lap, Neo could tell his wife had taken to the boy. She and Knight would sit up for hours, having lively conversations in the indecipherable mixture of _Québécoise_ French and grammatically butchered English they called '_Franglais_' about secret topics they'd never reveal (Neo naturally concluded that they must have been discussing maple-syrup, igloos and reindeer, an assumption which made Knight laugh and Trinity scowl).

His wife even taught Knight to read the code _personally_ (a tiresome job she usually left to the operator), and she ambitiously tuned into the NHL playoffs a few hours every day as the backdrop for her lessons. About a week in, Neo could tell their rookie had grasped the basics when he happened upon Knight and Trinity arguing about an interference call during game seven of the semi-finals.

"_Franchement! T'ai folle,_ Trin!" the bald twelve year old had exclaimed, typing on the operator's keyboard to replay the infraction. "Kovalev was in the crease! Right there, you see that? He might as well have been _sitting_ in the net! I'm sorry, no goal."

Trinity had smiled, and Neo knew she was proud of him. Knight couldn't have known at the time, but nobody learned the code that fast, and team sports like hockey were not easy to follow. "Canadiens still lead by two," she said evenly, holding up her hand for a hi-five.

"We've got the freest minds in the league!" Knight slapped her palm enthusiastically _"Allez-y, _boys! Go, _Habs_, Go!"

After over two weeks of such special treatment on the Neb, it was only natural that Knight would find it difficult to adjust to life in Zion. And from Neo's perspective, the only thing more heart-wrenching than the twelve-year-old's teary eyes when they left him at the Orphanage were Trinity's teary eyes in the elevator on the way home. Neo spent the entire afternoon convincing her they'd done the right thing in leaving him, which all turned out to be egg on his face when their sleep was disturbed at nearly midnight by a phone call from the Headmaster.

"What do you mean you '_can't find him'_?" Trinity was using one hand to hold the receiver and the other to hit Neo awake with a pillow. "Well, no of course he isn't with me! My wonderful _husband_…" -she hit him again- "and I left him in your _capable_ hands six hours ago."

By the time she hung up, Trinity was out of bed and throwing on her clothing. Neo groggily followed her into the master bathroom, still half-asleep. "Where are you going?"

"That little _monster_!" she exclaimed, combing back her long, wavy hair into a messy bun at the back of her head.

Neo rubbed his eyes. "What's this about Rorie?"

"No, the _other_ one, Neo for God's sake. Would you wake up and pay attention to me!" She raised a hand as if to assault him again, but Neo caught her wrist in midair.

"Let's hold off on the domestic violence until my eyes adjust to the light. We could break something nice." He released her, yawned and stretched. "Now. Calmly, my little pumpkin…"

"Calling me _pumpkin_ is supposed to make me _not_ want to hit you?" She splashed some water on her face and snatched up a towel. "I hardly think cute fruity pseudonyms are appropriate right now…"

"Of course not, Trin. Don't overreact." Neo leaned on the doorframe. "I meant one of those hollow, carved pumpkins. The scary ones with the sharp teeth and glowing red eyes."

"They can't find Knight. Apparently, he ran away," she said, ignoring the Halloween barb, filing it in the back of her mind to throw up at him later when she needed it most (nine years of marriage had taught her many a similar survival-tactic). "I told you we shouldn't have left him there." She brushed past him in a hurry and grabbed her keys off the kitchen table. "'_Don't worry, Trin_,' you said. '_He'll be fine, Trin.' 'Trust my judgement, Trin_…'"

"Calm down."

"'_Calm down, Trin_…'" She continued to mimic him with exaggerated gesticulation as she slipped on her shoes. "Now the poor thing is lost somewhere in a place he knows nothing about, he's probably disoriented, terrified; God only knows what's happened to him!"

Trinity yanked the door open, and nearly walked over the young boy on her way out.

"Oh. Hi, Trin." Knight stared up at her guiltily, fingers fidgeting with the seam of his shirt.

Neo sighed. "I'm going back to bed."

"You little _monster!_" Trinity gasped as Knight wrapped his arms around her waist, clinging to her as if to life itself.

"Is someone calling me?" A nine-year-old Rorie poked her head out from her bedroom door.

Neo rubbed his face with his hands and chuckled half-heartedly. "Or we could all just stay up, whatever's good."

"I'm sorry. It's just that I didn't know where else to go," Knight was explaining, though Neo noticed that the moment he saw Rorie his attention shifted away from Trinity. "I hated it there and missed you so much that I… I uhm… uhm… _pardonnez, c'est qui la belle fille avec les yeux comme des étoiles?"_

And from that moment on, they couldn't have gotten rid of him if they wanted to. To earn his keep, Knight spent his time programming most of the Neb's more original sparring programs, not to mention a few extra treats for the captain (Trinity still used the custom-grip Beretta 84's that he'd created for her eight years ago). As soon as he was old enough, she offered him a position onboard the Neb, despite having her choice of several more experienced candidates…

"Yeah, sometimes I wonder which one of us she _loooo-ves_ more," Rorie remarked sarcastically, spitting on the rag and diligently scrubbing away at the last disgusting bits of bubblegum. "I mean, she lets you trips through the Matrix with her, freeing minds, fighting evil, maintaining a delicate balance of world peace, etcetera, etcetera… and she lets _me_..." -she spat again- "…scrub your gum off the hull. I wonder: who is the favourite child?"

"You're her _only_ child, Rorie." Knight took the rag from her and forced eye contact. "She could never love _anyone_ as much as she loves you." He grinned. "Even someone as and charming as I am. Give her some time. She worries more than you know."

"You sound just like my father."

"Then I'm in good company."

"Okay, suck-up. This is done. Finally." Rorie finished off her work by cocooning the free wires in several centimetres of black electrical tape, and then snapping the shiny aluminium paneling back into place. "She's ready to go."

They pulled themselves out from under the ship, and for the first time in three hours Rorie looked around the Dock. The last of the repair crews had left, and the main floodlights were shut off for the evening. She sighed her relief, basking in the welcome silence that was left in the wake of another chaotic day. She could spend all night here, she thought, just enjoying the tranquility of it. In the dim illumination of her work lamps, the surrounding ships imposed like huge, benign giants, protecting her, guarding the city while it slept. Yes, more than anywhere else, _this_ was home.

As a child, Rorie passed entire days watching her mother direct the slow but steady rebuilding of Zion's fleet. Trinity habitually worked until long after the rest of the engineers had retired for the evening, and often Neo lent her a hand during the night shift. Sometimes, Rorie was persuasive enough to convince them to let her stay and help as well, beseeching them not to worry, because 'sleep was a luxury she was prepared to sacrifice for the good of the Resistance'.

Some of Rorie's favourite childhood memories were of those long, quiet nights under their city's great, earthen dome, lying atop the fluffy piles of insulation, listening to her parents' whispered conversation echo under the hull of some ship. Of course, within a few hours she'd invariably fall asleep, and so Neo would carry her home, only to subsequently return to the Dock to coax his wife away from her work long enough to get a little rest of her own.

When Rorie could, she'd force herself awake to wait for their return; she knew what was coming. Her mother never retired without checking on her first. Trinity would brush hair from her face, tuck the covers tightly around her, and kiss her forehead three times – always _three_ times. Never once fooled by Rorie's act, Trinity would then playfully whisper into the tight whorl of her ear that 'sentinels loved to eat little children who didn't get their sleep.' When Rorie was feeling cheeky, she'd retort that her father would kill any sentinel which came within a thousand meters of her (he'd told her so many times), to which her mother always had the last word. "Yes, my Only," she'd say. "But Daddy's tired tonight. Best not to have to wake him."

Rorie remembered clearly the first time her parents left her alone for any extended period of time. She was seven, and they were gone for over a month on a 'diplomatic mission.' The machines were withdrawing their forces from much of the western hemisphere, and Zion's army was claiming the territory. But the machines refused to budge unless The One was there to accept their 'gift of friendship.' Needless to say, it was a very delicate situation, and Trinity refused to let her husband go without her.

"Chances are it's a goddamned bomb with a bow on it. Someone's got to be there to put you back together, right?" her mother had said while packing Neo's things for the mission, not realizing that Rorie was standing in the doorway. It took them hours to get her to stop crying, with Trinity trying in vain to convince her daughter that the comment was a joke.

What Rorie never knew was that her mother spent the better part of that night lost in her own tears of dread. It was the first time she and Neo were to return to the surface since the end of the War, and in the earth's toxic, unforgiving atmosphere were demons she'd left dormant for over eight years. She could only pray that her instincts were wrong.

Indeed, it was a great surprise to both Neo and Trinity when they were met on the ancient battlefield by a pair of humanoid AI robots, ostensibly female and male, each dressed in long purple and orange fabrics. It was the woman who spoke first. "We welcome you – both of you. Vishnu, Lakshmi, you honour us by your presence on this historic morning. You are well?"

"We are, yes." Neo responded almost instantly, seemingly unaffected by the unusual greeting. "On behalf of Zion, I extend my hand to you in friendship and peace."

As they shook, the male android revealed a smooth yellow stone in the palm of his hand, about the size of a silver dollar. He spoke to Trinity.

"This is a gift for your child. May she live long and happy, and never see the horrors of War."

The stone was in fact, a piece of amber… a rare remainder of what natural glories used to bless the barren, lifeless soil on which they all stood. Inside the fossilized tree sap was a single beetle, immortally frozen inside its golden prison.

"Do you think there are any left like this?" Rorie had asked her father as she marvelled at the mysterious treasure. She'd never seen such a beautiful creature before. The exoskeleton reflected every colour imaginable: a million blues and greens and reds all at the same timeThe wings, only half-extended, caught the light in elaborate gossamers of sparkling silver.

"We've got bugs on the Neb… they live in the sewers." Neo replied, studying the strange gift under her desk lamp. "But none of them are this colourful. Not that I've seen."

From that time on, Rorie's fascination with the insect only grew. She spent hours collecting the 'bugs' from the interiors of the docking hovercraft in which they had taken residence. Over eighty different species of beetles, spiders, flies, and ants later – she still wasn't satisfied. One can only gain so much information from fireflies and millipedes. The real treasure, the real _adventure_… lay over thirty kilometres above her head.

"God, Knight. I wish I were going with you," Rorie said, looking up at the Neb as she shut off the remainder of the flood lights. "What I wouldn't give to just get in and _go_."

Knight shrugged. "Go whereexactly? Broadcast depth isn't exactly glamorous. It's cold and dark and…"

"No, not broadcast depth. The surface."

"Which is just cold-_er_ and dark-_er_…"

"I want to see what my mother saw when the Logos punched through the clouds above 01."

"The sun?"

"Mom once told me it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen." Rorie smiled thoughtfully. "That is, she said, until she saw me."

"I've been to the surface, Rorie. There's nothing up there. It's desolate."

"I don't believe that. The temperature fluctuations we recorded…"

"Were sensor glitches."

Rorie sighed and reached around her neck, removing the amber stone she'd religiously worn on a necklace for the past ten years of her life. She studied the familiar details of the arthropod's delicate antennae and its tiny, perfect appendages. "No. There has to be something more up there. I _know_ it."

"How do you know?"

"The same way _you_ knew there was something more to life than the Matrix. I just know."

Knight watched her as she stared up at the earthen ceiling of the Dock, like an astronomer gazing up at the heavens, wondering what mysteries the undiscovered cosmos might hold. The idea that there could be anything besides permafrost on the crust was radical at best. The last SRP mapped most of the surface before beginning their work at the poles – they never recorded anything but deserts of infertile earth covered with multiple layers of filthy ice. Still, he had to admit, something about the look in her eyes… made him _want_ to believe her.

"You know what you need to do?" Knight said finally, taking the necklace from her and refastening it around her neck. He chuckled, "You need to go and see the Oracle. _She_ has the answers."

Rorie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, unfortunately, I don't have the required _outlet_. We free-borns have to figure our _own_ lives out."

"Well, I went to see her. And I asked her about you." Knight added jokingly, "she told me your _destiny_."

"Oh _really_? Okay, then, oh _wise_ one. Tell me… what is my destiny?" Rorie laughed as she sat on the edge of her workbench, as if preparing herself for a very long and interesting story.

"Not _what_, my dear. But _who_."

"Oh, even _better_! _Who_ is my destiny, then?"

Knight leaned very close to her, and whispered, "The seventh anomaly. The One!"

Her giggles echoed off the walls as she shoved him away. "I should have known I'd be stuck with the family _curse_! What nonsense: the _seventh_ anomaly! Not that Dad isn't about due for retirement, mind you."

"Hey, they rebooted the system, so there's gotta be another One, right?"

"I suppose."

"Well, baby, he's all yours."

"And how am I going to find this wonderful man, Knight? I'm stuck at the bottom of this giant hole in the ground!"

"Also not a problem, hon. You're looking straight at him! The One… has come to _you_." Knight bowed dramatically and dropped to one knee, extending a hand out to her, a look of undying devotion in his eyes.

"Oh, _please_!" Rorie hopped off where she'd been perched on her workbench and crossed her arms in scrutiny, raising an eyebrow and shaking her head. "You may have had me there, Knight. But now I know you're lying."

"What!" He leapt to his feet in mock outrage. "God! What's a guy gotta do to convince you ladies?"

"I dunno… my Dad can do some pretty cool stuff from what I hear."

"That's a good point." Knight rubbed his fingers against his chin pensively for a moment, then reached out and grabbed her around the waist. "What if I told you… I could _fly_?"

"I'd say… _take me with you_."

Before she knew what was happening, Rorie found herself captive in his arms, then hoisted over his shoulder, her feet kicking in the air. "Alright, babe. Where do you wanna go?" He spun her around. "We have right… or left…"

"Put me down you impostor!" She screeched, completely consumed with laughter again. "Do you hear me? You can't do this to me… to _me_! Do you realize who I am? Who my _father_ is? I'm the next Queen of Zion!"

In no mood to let the 'little princess' go, Knight continued to spin her, laughing as he tried to keep her sharp fingernails from doing any real damage. It was only when he heard another voice come from behind him that he realized that they were not alone.

"I suggest you do what the lady says," Neo said, arms folded across his chest.

The younger man turned around, face ashen as he tried to focus on the person whose only child he had hoisted precariously above his head. The room was still spinning. "Oh… g- good evening, Neo... _sir_."

"Who's there?" Rorie tried to bend her head around to see who Knight was talking to. "Daddy, is that you?"

Knight _very_ carefully bent down to restore Rorie to solid ground. As soon as she was able, she smoothed out her hair and cleared her throat nervously. "Hi, Dad. I'm glad you're here… I was starting to worry that you'd forgotten."

Neo's glance shifted from Rorie to Knight and back again. Both their cheeks were flushed, and Rorie couldn't meet his eyes. Neo had a feeling that he had been the farthest person from his daughter's thoughts that evening. Feeling betrayed and foolish at the same time, he forced a smile. "Of course I didn't forget. But I didn't realize you had _company_."

"Knight saw me working late and stayed to help me finish your upgrades."

"Goes faster with two," Knight offered.

"They're a great set of pads, Dad; you're really going to like them…"

"I'm sure I will," Neo replied absently. His mind and heart were racing, and with every passing moment, he felt more and more out of place. What a mess he'd made of things. Clearly, he should have stayed at home with Trinity. She was probably furious with him, and for what? So he could come and rescue their daughter from the horrors of an evening alone with the tall, blonde and handsome guy who has doted on her ever since she was ten?

"Dad, what happened to your other boot?" Rorie scowled at his feet. "Don't tell me you and mom are fighting again…"

"What? No, of course not." Neo tried to think of any other explanation for his half-dressed state in the middle of the night. Finding none, he chose to simply let the question of his missing footwear slide. "Speaking of your mother, have you seen her tonight?"

"No… why? Was I supposed to?"

"Nothing, forget it." Neo puzzled over where in the world Trinity had gone if not to the Dock. The thought of Ghost hovered unpleasantly in his mind for a moment. He wouldn't blame her, especially given the unkindness he'd shown her that evening. In fact, Neo would be surprised if Trinity came home at all tonight. And how he needed to talk to her… now more than ever. Besides the obvious anxiety he'd been feeling with regards to Smith's apparent resurrection from digital oblivion, Neo wanted to tell her about how he could literally feel their daughter slipping through his fingers. That at some point today, between dropping out of school and flirting with his tactical officer – she'd stopped being the innocent, vulnerable child he remembered from her youth. She was a woman – a woman who needed things that he couldn't give her, and who faced the kinds of dangers he couldn't protect her from.

Neo sighed wearily. "Knight, have you heard that we're leaving early? Tomorrow morning."

"Yeah. Trin called me earlier today. She didn't say why…"

"It's not important, just a scheduling thing," Neo lied, looking at his daughter's concerned face. "Rorie, I want you to come to see us off tomorrow morning. It's important to your mother that she sees you before we leave. She misses you."

"Yeah, of course."

Neo took her in his arms and hugged her close, murmuring in her ear, "I don't want you to leave each other so angry, please… for me."

Rorie pulled away and nodded in response. Satisfied she understood him, Neo then took Knight's hand firmly. "And as for _you_, crewman. I need _you_ here early. The ship should be ready to go by seven. So… after walking the 'future Queen of Zion' home, you'll get straight to bed?"

The question was asked with a subtle squeeze of his hand, and Knight finally seemed to relax, smiling boyishly and muttering an affirmative. As Neo turned to leave them, he added over his shoulder. "Oh and Knight? Take it from an expert. Conditions are bad for flying this evening. Better to take the elevators instead, yeah?"

* * *

_Translations and notes: _

_**"Bonjour, mon petit prince du nord";**Hello, my little prince of the north.  
Trinity's use of the phrase "mon petit prince" isn't mere whimsy. It's meant as a reference to the well-known children's book, "Le Petit Prince" by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. It's a story about a little golden-haired prince who travels the universe for a home. Although it is meant as a children's tale, the book makes many profound observations about life and love, muchas "Alice in Wonderland" does.Notable is an observation made to the prince, which translates to _"_You only see rightly with the heart, what matters is invisible to the eyes." _

_**"Comme… une rose **__**du nord" **; Like... a rose of the north.  
In the novel, the little prince lives on a small asteroid with three volcanoes and a single beautiful rose, who has many thorns, whichthe prince"tames." - this is Knight's clever (if not presumptuous) way of letting Trinity know he understands the reference to Saint-Exupéry's work._

_**"Franchement! T'ai folle /**__**"Allez-y, boys! Go, Habs, Go!"** ; Frankly, you're crazy, Trin/ C'omon, guys! Go, Habs, Go!"  
Habs is short for "habitants" or "farmers" - those of you who watch NHL hockey know that Montreal's home team'smoniker is "habs" b/c the team was originally formedfrom a bunch of rural farmers. _

_**"Pardonnez, c'est qui la belle fille avec les yeux comme des étoiles?"** ; Excuse me, who is this beautiful girl with eyes like the stars?  
__  
Anyway, I know it's a bit of a stretch to make Trinity a Montrealer, but this is my way of putting a bit of my own culture into the work. I hope you enjoyed it. Next chapter is withSmith/Synergy... and we will discover more aboutour mysterious human anomaly.  
_


	7. Chapter 6

_**a/n:**_

_**- Okay, so we're back to our mysterious human anomaly... and our former virus former agent Smith... Enjoy! (NB I've put the translations directly into the text, in the hopes this makes the reading easier)**_

* * *

_**Chapter 6**_

Smith gritted his teeth as he marched down the crowded sidewalks of Paris, rudely pushing pedestrians aside as he went. It was taking him a long time to adapt to the New System. Nothing was the same. The humans roamed freely in and out of the Matrix, unhindered by agents, unplugging targets at will. Not only that; the clout he'd enjoyed as a class-1 sentient program was now all but nonexistent. Not a single model from his generation of programs remained operational. His status was useless, vintage, exiled.

Even the local law enforcement seemed to have more authority than he did. The former Agent Smith had returned from his morning errands to find a bright yellow wheel-clamp on the right front tire of his illegally-parked 1999 Audi A4. Frustrated, he'd used all his strength to rip it off, but accidentally warped the frame of the car in the process. After several futile attempts to fix the body of the only car he'd been programmed to drive, Smith gave up and decided to walk it. It was just as well, he needed time to think.

The entire afternoon his cognition subroutines had been caught in a kind of temporal loop – over and over - he couldn't stop replaying the events of that morning in his thoughts. It was troublesome: this inability to sort and store the information properly. The memory files seemed to be recalled randomly, without any sort of trigger. More than that, the unpleasantness of the undesired _déjà-vu_ was compounded with nagging error messages: _Futile command_: _target not recognized_. All day they had plagued his consciousness. It was most inconvenient that his program persisted in bombarding him with these censures, these safety protocols which were meant to prevent agents from wasting resources on irrelevant targets. Smith grimaced. What did the humans call it? A conscience? The irony was palpable.

He knew from the moment he pulled the trigger that something was wrong. They hadn't run; they hadn't even shot back at him. It was very unusual, and horribly unnerving to have such an easy conquest. It was almost as if they didn't even know who he was. _Him_. Smith. Of course, they _were_ young ones. And he'd been held prisoner in that Siberian jail for two decades now. But surely the legend should have persisted. After all, he'd killed The One…their Saviour… and not just once… he'd killed the guy _twice, _for crying out loud.

Smith tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that Ghost had recognized him. Good old Ghost, Smith had thought at the time, genuinely pleased to see a familiar face. Certainly _this_ one could be counted upon to be properly terrified.

In truth, Smith's encounter with his old adversary only yielded a partial satisfaction. Ghost had, indeed, shown him due respect – after emptying both clips at him, he turned and ran until Smith manoeuvred him into a dead-end. For good measure, he then kicked Ghost into the brick wall a few times before feeding him Synergy's message. Certainly, that he couldn't kill Ghost was unfortunate. But for the time being, he had to do the human's bidding.

Smith gritted his teeth. The _human_. He had a hard time believing that Synergy was, in fact… _only_ human. In all his years in this System, he had never encountered an entity like her. He couldn't even guess at what kind of systematic error was responsible for _her_ existence. Clearly, Synergy's power was the result of some sort of imbalance in the system – an anomaly not unlike Mr. Anderson. Indeed, not unlike himself.

Smith turned onto a quiet street in the northern part of the _Marais_, passing several Museums and galleries before reaching his destination, _3001 Rue de Saintonage_. The eleven-storey glass and concrete tower was a tribute to modern architecture and design, an attractive compliment to the historic stone buildings on either side. The inside lobby was decorated with a tasteful mixture of modern and classical Art: Pacco Rabanne met Pablo Picasso in whimsical splashes of colour against grey walls and white marble floors.

He nodded at the doorman who doubled as a guard: an attractive, muscular Frenchman with curly, shoulder length brown hair and a cleft chin. The pansy wore a Valentino suit, pink silk tie, and Italian loafers. Smith suspected that the _human_ had personally programmed this piece of eye-candy from scratch. He scoffed as he stepped into the elevator. Surely she could have done better than that.

The elevator doors opened on the top floor with a light whoosh, giving way to a sky-lit atrium accented with abstract oil paintings. In stark contrast to the minimalist surroundings, the doors to Synergy's suite were antique wood, artfully carved in intricate Persian design. Smith considered that in the past few months they'd been living here, the human had redecorated several times. He wished she'd just make up her mind. He was getting sick of complimenting every new addition to the house. And she was always upset if he didn't notice.

"Honey, I'm home." Smith announced his arrival with his usual sarcastic brand of suave. He removed his sunglasses and looked around the richly-furnished surroundings. Several items were new. But before he could comment, Smith was thrown clear across the room, his body smashed hard against the wall.

Synergy was standing more than ten paces away, hands on her hips, an expression of unrestrained ferocity on her face. Somehow, she was holding him there, with some sort of mysterious energy, crushing his torso and preventing his breathing. Smith's eyes widened with surprise as he realized, for the first time ever, the pain of being suffocated.

"I specifically instructed you – _Program_ – not to kill _anyone_!" The raw power of Synergy's rage flashed in her eyes like pure blue electricity. "Do you think that I am playing some sort of game? That my instructions are simply _suggestions_ to be disregarded whenever your _limited_ neural network of _primitive_ algorithms decides that it suits you?"

Smith felt her invisible grip on his chest and throat tighten as his feet lifted higher off the ground. The agony was exquisite – the sound of pounding blood in his ears was like nothing he had ever felt before.

Synergy's fury only burned whiter when she caught sight of the stifled grin that had spread across Smith's face. Her bright red fingernails dug into her palms. "You are very foolish," she hissed. "I could dismantle your program. Line. By. Line. It would probably be a good idea – I could write a more sophisticated agent in the time it took you to deliver one simple message."

Smith managed to force a chuckle through his steadily crushing airway. "You… need… me." He managed, tasting blood at the base of his tongue. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision.

If only this sensation could last forever, he thought.

Synergy held him high against the wall for a few seconds longer, listening to time tick away on the huge grandfather clock that imposed on the wall facing her colonial-style mahogany desk. Staring at him with contempt she whispered, "Yes, well. We shall see for how long."

Suddenly, Smith's body dropped to the floor, leaving him coughing and gasping for breath. As he slowly recovered from the asphyxia, his vision was filled with a thousand stars of varying colour, exploding like fireworks in his mind. But these were much more beautiful than any fireworks he'd ever seen.

"Well, get up. For goodness' sake – you're drooling on my new carpet. It's Tibetan wool." Synergy stepped over him, her feet clad in jet-black stiletto pointed-toe heels. In an instant, her mood shifted completely, her anger evaporating like rain off hot asphalt. She gesticulated to the room around her "Now tell me, do you like what I've done with the place?"

Her question activated a cluster of memory files. Some were damaged, incomplete. Another series of error messages rung in his ears. He struggled for clarity as he rose to his feet, adjusted his tie, and replaced his shades. "Hmm – you've obviously been very busy with idle interior décor. While I've been out _working_."

She bent over to fluff a few pillows on the couch. "Oh, what does your opinion matter anyway?"

Smith's eyes travelled up her legs, clad in black patterned stockings, to the ruffled hem of her skirt. The pure silk flowed from her hips to her knees as if it were some kind of magical liquid. Her perfectly-fitted crisp white blouse and Hermès scarf, tied tightly around her neck, completed the look of Parisian sophistication. Tiny white pearls glowed on her earlobes.

"Your vanity betrays your humanity, Synergy," he remarked.

"My humanity. Is that what you think this is?" The wickedly red lips smiled broadly. "No. This is calculated. You see, Mr. Smith… I was raised to appreciate the Power of Aesthetics." She turned to the large windows that constituted the entire western wall of her vast quarters. Eleven storeys below, autumn colours danced across the streets of Paris. "These contrivances – like so many things here… were created for the sake of _appearances_. With a purpose."

"Which is?"

"That isn't your concern. Your job… was to get me the One they call Neo. You assured me he'd be here by now…"

"He'll come. With any luck, you'll get them both. The woman follows him everywhere."

"Yes. Yes, I've heard that. Many have spoken of this devotion. The love that crippled an entire army of sentinels." Synergy's eyes refocused, shifting her attention from the late afternoon shoppers to on her own reflection in the glass. "Fascinating."

"_Disgusting_."

She ignored the comment. "What do you know about Trinity?"

Smith shrugged as he tried to recall. Again, a few links were broken. After some thought, he remarked bluntly, "difficult to kill."

Synergy rolled her eyes. She was quickly coming to the realization that this ancient piece of junk from the Old System was of less help than she originally anticipated. Still, she persisted. "Can't you be any more specific?"

The damaged program pretended to think for a moment, then jerked his head in a few exaggerated twitches. "No. I'm afraid that… my 'primitive algorithms' can't compute your question." He glowered at her through sunglasses that had gone out of style over fifteen years ago. "If the problem persists, please contact your systems administrator."

"Do they install that sarcasm at the factory, or did you have to send away for the upgrade?"

Angrily, Smith paced the length of the room, stopping only centimetres from her face. He caught the slightest waver in her composure and he glared intensely at her young, delicate features. She couldn't be older than twenty, he decided. A mere child, playing a very dangerous game with Programs who had existed for as long as the System itself.

It was Synergy's misguided confidence that betrayed her naiveté. Clearly, she believed herself quite powerful. The impressive array of 'magic tricks' she could perform in this virtual playing field gave her a false sense of control. Smith knew better. He'd learned a long time ago that that in this prison, Synergy's sort of power was as artificial as the Matrix itself. When all was said and done, she was trapped here, along with all the rest of them.

"Tell me, Synergy," he said smoothly. "What is your business with the Andersons?"

"That's not-"

"Do you plan to beg them for freedom from this place? You want them to '_unplug'_ you?"

Synergy opened her mouth to reply, but faltered for a moment. Then, "What arrogance to think that you could understand my motivations…"

He couldn't hold back a laugh. "But it's very simple. You're just a _battery_, my dear. What other plan could you possibly have? You're just like every other human who has sought asylum from this… _zoo_. Do you know how many _just like you_ I've shot dead? I was designed to hunt unleashed animals like you."

"How dare you-"

"Do you realize that your body," Smith firmly grasped her arm with one large, powerful hand. "As _lovely_ as it is here… You're _real_ body is nothing like this. It's actually riddled with over twenty metal plugs… you're weak, undernourished, _naked_. As we speak, your biochemical energy is running my program." He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "I can practically _taste_ you."

Before he knew what was happening, Smith was on the floor over thirty feet away from her, slumped into a hole in the wall, plaster dusting his shoulders and hair. The room shook violently. Books fell from their shelves and glass ornaments shattered, popping like over-inflated balloons. Smith looked up at the elaborate chandelier as it swayed to and fro, the thousands of tiny crystal diamonds clinking against each other like an array of wind chimes announcing the arrival of inclement weather. He inched back just in time to avoid the giant structure as it crashed to the floor.

Smith got to his feet, removed his broken sunglasses, and looked back at Synergy. Her bun had come undone, and long strands of ink black hair tumbled onto her shoulders. She was panting, her tiny frame leaning against the window, one of her hands clutching the drapes. Smith noticed with some surprise that her forehead glistened with perspiration. "Get out," she said finally, not looking at him.

Smith vacillated. For a reason that he could not completely understand, he found himself unwilling to leave her. Indeed, he'd never engaged a human on such a… personal level before. That he could rouse such emotion in her was delicious to him, and every time she lost control, the intensity of her feeling exploded from her body and buzzed through him in a series of shockwaves.

_More_. That's all Smith could think as he took a step towards her. But before his foot touched the floor, he was frozen in space. There was no pain, no crushing force on his chest, just a strange force preventing his advancement, as if he and Synergy were similar poles of two magnets repelling one another.

"_I said go_." Synergy didn't even spare him a glance. "I'll call you when I need you."

Smith felt a gentle but firm nudge towards the door before she broke their connection. He balled his hands into two fists. His program was executing a very familiar series of commands, originally designed to boost his motivation beyond the default settings. But this pathway was no longer regulated properly, and often Smith found himself unable to shut it off.

The best human equivalent of the sensation would be… to feel _denied_.

He studied her for a few more seconds. She looked tired, her hand resting lightly on her forehead as she stood in her ruined suite, staring out the window. He wondered what she was thinking. No… not _thinking_… what she was _feeling_. He'd sensed it for only a second as she held him captive in her strange, remote embrace. He tried to define it, and failed. Not anger. Something much more fundamental… and yet beyond his ability to identify. Clearly, it was a sensation his platform was not designed to support. _Nor was I programmed to feel pain_, Smith considered as her turned on his heel and quitted the room. _What kind of human could cause such a malfunction?_

Synergy heard Smith's feet crunch on bits of debris as he left, only turning away from the window when she was sure she was alone. The young woman weakly stepped over bits of broken furniture, and her impractical heels caught on the edge of the rug, tripping her into an antique ottoman, upholstered in bright swirls of yellow and gold fabric.

As a mixture of mascara and tears streamed down her ivory cheeks, Synergy found herself missing the Program she'd once called 'mother.' The woman who used to comfort her long ago, when the world was much simpler, back before she knew the difference between _human_ and _machine_.

"_Ne pleures pas, ma petite princesse," _she'd coo softly._ "C'est tellement mystérieux, le pays des larmes. Ne voyages pas où je ne peux pas te suivre."_

_Translation: don't cry, my little princess. It's so mysterious to me, this land of tears. Don't go anywhere I cannot follow. (taken from "Le Petit Prince"; see last chapter's endnotes)_

Synergy's entire youth was spent in a huge French _château_, nestled in the isolated beauty of the Alps. During that time, her mother was her closest companion, her most trusted confidante, and only friend. Everything she ever knew about the world, this program had taught her. By the time she was eleven, Synergy was well versed in history, science, art, and literature. She'd learned horseback riding, could play the violin, piano-forte and flute, and was fluent in four languages. In short, she was everything that the young daughter of a wealthy French landowner was expected to be.

Of course, as she got older, Synergy began to realize that something was wrong. With each passing day, the large mansion she'd never left became smaller and smaller; the world seemed to suffocate her somehow. Her sleep was plagued with nightmares of things she did not understand, and more and more often she'd find herself the cause of what her mother termed "_accidents_." One horrible afternoon, after a particularly violent tantrum, the Merovingian returned home to find an entire wing of his home completely destroyed.

"_Nom de Dieu de connards d'enculés de ta mere, Persephone!"_ He threw his arms up above his head in exasperation. "That's it! _Fini!_ I'm done – she goes! The fucking child goes!

_(Translation: a long list of vulgar French curses... that's our Merv!)_

The Merovingian then turned his anger towards the young Synergy, who was lying in bed with a fever, drained and barely conscious from the experience. He raised his hand as if to strike her, but his wife moved quickly, using her body to protect the little girl. The full force of the blow landed instead on Persephone's face, sending her tumbling to the ground.

What the Merovingian hadn't expected was how far the apparently weakened child would go to protect the only woman who had ever shown her kindness. She'd leapt from her bed and with one broad motion of her arm, sent the man she'd come to hate crashing through the door of her bedroom. His body made a squeaking sound as he slid across the marble floor. Not wanting to stop there, she remembers willing him to die, holding him against the ground and crushing his pathetic body with nothing but sheer will. Had Persephone not begged her to let him go, Synergy is certain she would have destroyed him.

That was the last day she spent in her beautiful, secluded paradise in the north of France. She woke up the next morning in a dark, cold dungeon cell, trapped behind stone walls and metal bars so thick, not even she could bend them. In a place where none of her magic could save her. Synergy's only company was the array of Exiled Programs which shared the cells that surrounded her own– it was from them that she learned the Truth. The Truth about nearly everything: the Merovingian, the Matrix, the War, the Resistance… and about Neo, the so-called champion of 'her kind.'

It was in the underground prison that became her home for six years that Synergy came to the realization she was a human who had been raised by two very powerful Programs which had taken great pains to keep her from discovering who she actually _was_. And every time she asked her fellow prisoners what possible reasons the machines could have for imprisoning her here, she'd invariably receive the same mysterious reply: _Who knows such things? Only the Oracle. _

Synergy's brow furrowed as she wiped her tears from her face and pulled her legs up to her chest. _The Oracle_. She'd travelled a long way from home to seek this legendary Program's counsel. And what a waste of time it had been. Indeed, Synergy had left the Oracle's home more confused than when she arrived.

"My goodness, just _look_ at you." The old woman had said, as if they were two friends who hadn't seen each other for a very long time. The Oracle examined her back and front and smiled, nodding approvingly at the stunning young woman who stood in her kitchen doorway. "You certainly didn't turn out the way they expected, now did you?"

"I'd like to think I've _exceeded_ expectations."

The Oracle chuckled. "You know, she'd be so proud if she could see you now."

"Who?"

The Oracle just winked back. "Why don't you take a seat? Your first time in America, isn't it?"

Synergy put her Burberry purse down on the kitchen table and removed her matching silk scarf and a pair of tan leather gloves. With a wry smile, "Yes, it is. I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm not very well travelled."

"I can imagine. Here, have some tea. Earl Grey, no sugar."

Synergy took the cup from her gratefully. It had been a long time since she'd enjoyed a decent cup of tea. _"Merci mille fois; C'est gentil de votre part."_ As she lifted the bone china to her lips, she said, "Your reputation precedes you, Oracle."

_(translation: thank you one thousand times; this was kind of you)_

"We have something in common, then."

"Oh?"

"Hm-hum. You've caused quite the ruckus these past few years. You have the Powers That Be very worried."

Synergy nodded thoughtfully. She had predicted that news of her recent activities would travel quickly. She could already sense it on the surface. The machines were concerned. "Do I have you worried?"

"Me? No sweetheart. I have no stakes in this game whatsoever."

"Don't you?" Synergy set down the china and regarded her hostess seriously from across the table. "A sentient program _designed_ to aid the machines in understanding the complexity of humanity. An ingenious strategy on the part of your creators, but perhaps your design was a little _too_ perfect. Do you sympathize with the struggle of my kind, Oracle? In an ironic twist of fate, has the human cause become your own? Indeed, it's the impression of many around here that you're on the _organics'_ side."

"You don't trust me." The Oracle sighed wearily, leaning one arm on the back of her chair. "Look, I'm going to tell you something: _program to human. _Taking sides is what got us all stranded in here in the first place. And we all got stuck together. So it seems to me… the only way to get out… is _together_. In time you'll see that."

"So you already know how this is going to end?"

"No – but I can tell you that right now, _you're_ holding all the cards. You've held them for your entire life, although you've only started to realize it now. And if I were you, I'd play my hand very carefully. The fate of This World, The Machine World, and Zion hangs in the balance. Change isn't easy for anyone, and let me tell you, honey. What you're attempting has never even been _dreamed_ of before."

"It's the only way, Oracle. You yourself probably know that. Others will follow in time." Synergy paused to sip her tea again before asking the question she'd travelled so far to ask. "What about the man they call Neo?"

The Oracle smiled broadly and nodded, as if Synergy were her pupil and had just said something quite clever. "Bingo, kiddo. Yes, what about Neo?"

"He's a systemic anomaly that can sense the system the way I do. Like me, he can bridge the gap between this world and the others. He is The One who negotiated the truce with the Machines."

"Yes?"

Synergy leaned forward in her chair, fingers gripping the edge of the table. "My ability to control and manipulate the code… is this because I am some sort of… anomalous event of this System… just as Neo was of the last? Are our purposes one in the same?"

The Oracle raised an eyebrow and pointed to the sign above her door. "You know what that means?"

Synergy read the Latin phrase aloud with perfect fluency. _Know thyself._

"Honey, I'm going to tell you exactly what I told Neo a very long time ago. Nobody can tell you who you are. That's something you're just going to have to discover for yourself."

Synergy would replay the Oracle's words many times in her mind, but even now, months later, she couldn't make sense of it. If nobody was going to tell her who she was, then how in the world was she supposed to figure it out? Surely the knowledge would not dawn upon her through some magical post-mortem kiss, as the popular legend went. She doubted that story were even true. Some of the crackpot programs in the dungeons certainly had a knack for invention. A few of them even expected her to believe that Neo-the-Casanova had kissed Persephone as well. Synergy scoffed. That a human could love a program, as cold and unforgiving as the very dungeons she'd abandoned her to all those years ago, was beyond comprehension.

After wiping the last smudges of mascara from her face, Synergy walked into her dressing room, quickly selected the items she wanted from an ample wardrobe, and reapplied her signature red lipstick. When she emerged from her penthouse suite, she sported knee-high boots, a tight black skirt and a matching leather jacket. With a motorcycle helmet tucked under her arm, she strode though the atrium towards the elevators, heels clicking impatiently on the marble floor.

She was surprised to see Smith sitting at one of the benches beside the lift. He was idly playing with his sunglasses when he spotted her and rose to his feet. "Where are you going?"

"To satiate my human vanity." Synergy's tone dripped with contempt as she pushed the down button beside the lift doors. "_Chanel_ is unveiling their 2006 Spring Collection at the Parisian Fashion Festival and I want to be the first in line."

From the corner of her eye she could see him, standing behind her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in what appeared to be a nervous shuffle. Perhaps there was something wrong with his motor subroutines. Wouldn't be surprising, Synergy thought. _Everything else on the guy is busted._

"I should come with you."

"Excuse me?" She turned on her heel and quirked an eyebrow. "If you feel the need to replace that awful suit of yours I'd certainly understand. But you should know my response to your question was purely sarcastic." She turned away and reached into the breast pocket of her jacket to retrieve a pair of sunglasses. Although she pretended not to notice, she could still sense him behind her, his stony, dramatic features set in an expression of muted defiance.

"My request was for your _protection_," he purred.

Synergy laughed as she slid the large black ovals onto her face. "Trust me, Program. I'm the last person who is going to be needing protection today. I have some personal scores to settle, and all bets are off."

"The Merovingian will be expecting you."

She grinned. He caught on faster than she thought. "_Oh, I know he is._ I hope he has been thinking of nothing else since he discovered I'd escaped."

"You shouldn't underestimate him."

"And _you_ have more pressing priorities right now, Mr. Smith." The elevator doors chimed open and Synergy stepped inside. "I expect the Neo situation to be handled by the time I return. I want them both _alive_, and not too pissed-off if you can manage that. Try and be _polite_, if that even exists as part of your programming."

Smith tried step into the elevator, but again found himself repelled by an invisible wall Synergy had erected in front of the doors. "Besides," she added, indicating the helmet she held in her hands, "My motorcycle only has room for one, and as I understand it… you've had a bit of trouble with your car."

* * *


	8. Chapter 7

_**

* * *

**_

_**Chapter 7**_

It has been said that when the Council put a _four-months pregnant_ Trinity in charge of rebuilding Zion's fleet of hovercraft, they had absolutely no idea what they were getting themselves into. That is, what was intended as a simple initiative to return the army's capabilities back to what they had been before the War, was quickly and radically revised by Trinity into one of the most expensive and labour-intensive projects ever undertaken by the hand of man in the modern age. Indeed, what the then newly-wed Trinity started was nothing less than a Technological Revolution.

"This City's Fleet has been the pride of the people for centuries, gentlemen," Trinity had said to her team of engineers, assembled for the first time in what used to be Jason Lock's command center. "So we're not just rebuilding _ships_ here. We're rebuilding a national identity. I want you to forget everything you think you know about designing hovercraft. Because what we're going to build hasn't even been dreamed of… at least not _yet_."

Trinity's vision was, quite simply, to create a force of ships that would eclipse any technological wonder Zion had ever seen before. And it was not a moment too soon. The city had spent two years rationing food, water, and electricity as repairs of critical life-support systems crawled along. The Machine Army had left nothing but piles of barely-salvageable scrap and wreckage, and the mass casualties of the invasion made the clean-up effort slow-going. But once the domestic projects reached completion and several oil and iron-ore rich regions were demilitarized by the Machine Army, Zion could finally spare the human and mechanical resources needed to accommodate a rapidly-expanding population. And Trinity made the decision that this meant a whole new approach to freeing minds.

She began by assembling several multi-disciplinary research teams, assigning them the arguably impossible task of developing a faster, more efficient tracking and requisition protocol. "That over twenty percent of Targets die by _drowning_ is unacceptable," Trinity had announced, shaking the army's yearly casualty report in her hand for effect. "Everyone, I want you to look around this room at your colleagues. You're the best programmers, the best physiologists, the best engineers that we have. Your mission is to find a way of grabbing the target directly out of the pod. I don't care how you do it, rip the whole damn thing off its stem if you have to. But we're not fishing through the sewer sludge for them anymore. That method is over a hundred years old – we can do better."

Trinity would become infamous for not taking 'no' or 'we can't' or 'the laws of physics won't allow for that' as an answer. Many speculated that the pregnancy had something to do with her no-nonsense attitude, but the truth was, Trinity's delicate condition simply made it very difficult for her male counterparts to argue with her. Nobody dared upset The One's pregnant wife. If she didn't kill you, her over-protective husband definitely would.

"I have something to show you," Trinity had said one night in bed, wrapped in Neo's arms, sifting though a pile of blueprints. She selected the one of interest and handed it to him. "And feel special, Lover. You're the first one who sees it."

Neo grinned as he studied the hand-drawn draft. "A ship?"

"Not just any ship." She snuggled closer so that her head was cradled in the crook of his neck. "The _Neb_."

With a child-like excitement, Trinity pointed out several of her most significant modifications. The diamond-plated, heavily-insulated hull was completely redesigned, mostly inspired by Niobe's suggestions. The ship was about the same size as the original with more aerodynamic, sleek angles that gave it the look of a futuristic stealth aircraft. The nine main pads were redistributed to make room for nearly a dozen smaller ones and a system of thrusters. If the theoretical design yielded the expected results, the Neb would be one of the fastest, most manoeuvrable ships in the fleet.

"And look, bigger crews' quarters. Captain's private bath with central heating," Trinity continued. "Morpheus will be the pimp of the entire army with accommodations like this. It's nicer than our place."

"I don't think Niobe would like that."

Trinity chuckled, the image of Niobe shooting a cheating Morpheus' kneecaps off flashing briefly in her mind. "The poor man is whipped."

"I can empathize." Neo closed his eyes and braced himself for impact, but instead felt the welcome sensation of her lips in his. One of her hands slid under his shirt and her fingers danced playfully across his chest.

"Mmmm… you'd better believe it." She shifted into a sitting position on his lap, arms around his neck. "Now the two of you can sit over a drink and bitch about how the wife's driving you nuts and the kid is ruining your sex life etcetera, etcetera..."

"Whoa, whoa! What's this about my sex life?"

"I'm just saying. Since David was born, Morpheus probably hasn't been laid once." She sighed, one hand on her steadily-growing bump. "Looks like you only have about two months left. Then, the honeymoon is over…"

"So I'd better get it while I can?"

"Uh-huh."

Neo hardly needed to be asked twice, throwing the blueprints aside and claiming what his shrewd wife would have him believe was a non-renewable resource. Surely, she was joking about Morpheus' one-year-old son draining the romance from his marriage. But still, one can never be too careful…

In fact, David was the pride of both his doting parents, an unexpected product of the Captains' steamy reunion almost immediately following the end of the War. When the child was born (over two weeks late), it was the first time Trinity had ever seen Morpheus cry.

David grew to express a very attractive combination of both of his parents (Trinity joked that he was fortunate to be blessed with Morpheus' height and Niobe's hair), and developed an affinity for flying, having been taught the ins-and-outs of the sewers by a rather demanding mother. It was said that she was training herself a competent co-pilot to occupy the place she'd never been able to satisfactorily fill after Ghost took command of his own vessel. It was therefore a great surprise to Trinity when Niobe asked her to consider David as a second-chair onboard the Neb.

"Ghost has a full house, and you and Neo are the only other ones I trust," Niobe had said in earnest. "I know you'll keep him from showing off too much."

"What about the Logos?" Trinity flipped through David's application, skimming his impressive aptitude test scores. With some experience, David would probably be a better pilot than she was.

"Well, I'd accept him if he wanted the spot. But it looks like he's finally cutting the cord." Niobe shrugged, but couldn't hide the hint of regret in her tone. "It was going to happen sooner or later, right?"

Trinity considered that they'd all expected it to be 'later' rather than 'sooner.' David worshipped his mother. Trinity could hardly believe he'd take a position that would keep them apart for such extended periods. It was certainly out of character.

That being said, Trinity would not regret her decision. David accepted her offer with the same restrained, controlled calm that would make him a truly wonderful co-pilot. Nothing shook him. Over the past year, Trinity had found herself in a few tight spots with David, situations in which she would expect a rookie to falter under pressure, but never once did he even flinch. He'd simply do his job, communicating in a smooth, velvet-like voice which reminded her so much of Morpheus, she would occasionally slip and call him by his father's name while they were at the helm. It was almost like having him there. Like the old days, she'd often think with a pang of nostalgia.

And so it was usually with a great deal of joy and pride that Trinity arrived at the Dock for a new mission. David would come with his father to help move things into the cargo hold while Rorie helped her do the routine systems check before they shoved-off. In many ways, the sequence of events before launch, executed in a hectic production of last-minute cargo mishaps, minor system glitches, and disgruntled Control staff dramas, was a long-standing tradition that Trinity wouldn't change if she could.

Indeed, bringing the Neb to life after a long break was like shaking hands with an old friend who reminded her of the best parts of her past, and represented her hopes for the future. And truth be told, she couldn't help but look at the impressive vessel as one of her most significant personal accomplishments. The design had required very few modifications over the years, and good maintenance had kept her looking like new. Unquestionably, she was the best ever built. Hers to fly.

But _this_ morning, everything seemed to be different, tainted by all her recent troubles. Trinity was exhausted from another restless sleep, having drifted in and out of consciousness for six hours. She had already arrived home when Neo returned from the Dock last night, and neither had said much to the other. Predictably, the first words out of his mouth had been a sincere 'I'm sorry,' and they both knew exactly what he was apologising for, and exactly what he wasn't. The apparent accusation of infidelity was not an issue. She knew he didn't mean it, and in retrospect, Trinity found it difficult to blame him for losing his temper with her.

They'd slept separately, she in their bed, and Neo taking Rorie's room, a mutual agreement that was born less out of animosity than a need for some space to unwind. And although Neo had dutifully maintained the tradition of making them both breakfast the morning of a new mission, their conversation had been laboured and tense. She wanted so much to ask him about Rorie, if he'd seen her, how she was, but she knew it was a delicate question, and they had a lot to do that morning. More than that, she knew that Neo was worried about Smith, but there was nothing to discuss regarding this matter. They'd just have to wait and see. So they'd filled the silence with the benign details of that morning's checklist and dispassionate chatter about a few technical glitches she wanted ironed out before they shoved off.

When they arrived at the Dock at half-past seven, Trinity found none of her usual comforts. David was filling the Neb's aft cargo holds alone, and explained that his father was due to hold another meeting with the Council concerning yesterday's tragedy on board the _Proteus_, and so would not be able to see them off as he normally did. Moreover, Trinity found their medic busy with the gear and the systems checks that Rorie would usually help her with.

"Sorry about that, Trinity. Rorie isn't here and I didn't think you'd care to do it alone. I took the initiative to run the routine stuff for you." Hawk-Eye, her tall, blonde-haired doctor handed her the pre-launch flight data. Born and raised in Raleigh, North Carolina, she still had a hint of the sweet, southern accent of her youth. "All systems check out, although the FAO feed is out of phase by .03 cycles. It's in parameters, but Kirk is checking it out just the same."

Knight made his appearance a full fifteen minutes late, hair mussed from sleep and panting from his mad dash from bed to the Dock. Trinity noted that his T-shirt was on inside-out, his clothing wrinkled. She doubted he'd done any laundry during the leave. She made a mental note to 'accidentally' throw his clothing in with hers once they got underway. Ironing, too.

"Sorry, Trin…" He exaggerated his gasps for effect. "You'll _never_ believe it…but I was _going_ to be here on time… except I ran into a pack Sentinels in the elevator! I had to fight them off with nothing but my bare hands. Now, I understand that saving Zion from a bunch of lawless machines is no excuse for tardiness, but-"

"You're right, I don't believe you." She pointed out the tag hanging from the front of his shirt's collar. "What did they try to do, undress you to death? Or is this just standard superhero uniform?"

He grinned as he threaded both arms through the T-shirt and lifted it over his head. As he untangled the ball of fabric in his hand, he sucked in his stomach. _"T'aimes ça, hen? _I've been working out. Like with weights and everything."

_**a/n**_: "_T'aimes ça, hen?" Pretty messy slang for "oh, you like this, eh?" - notably, he uses the informal pronoun "Tu", rather than "vous", which suggests familiarity. _

Trinity rolled her eyes at his barely-visible collection of pseudo-muscles and twelve curly-blonde chest-hairs: his pride and joy, no doubt. "You haven't been to dinner once in two weeks. Don't tell me you slept the leave away."

"You know me too well. Just woke up five minutes ago."

"I thought there were Sentinels."

"And I thought you didn't believe me about the Sentinels." Knight threw his top back on and grabbed a pile of charts from his duffle-bag. When he handed them to Trinity, he kissed her on the cheek by means of a belated greeting. Her earlier guilt-trip about blowing-off dinner invitations had not fallen on deaf ears. He should have called. "Rorie and I finished the pads last night," he said. "Here's the stats and operating manual. Not that you or Dave will read it. You rebels."

"Thank you." She flipped through them as a formality only, not reading a single entry printed on the polyetho-pyrimidine simulated paper. As she skimmed the last few lines of the efficacy report, Knight finally answered her unspoken question.

"Rorie's doing fine. She misses you, too, Trin." He slung his two bags over his shoulder and nodded at the ship. "I could hardly drag her away from it. Think of the pads as a peace-offering. We just couldn't find a bow big enough."

As the preparations neared completion and her husband helped David close up the cargo hangers, Trinity occupied herself with checking up on Rorie's twelve 3000-volt, 20-pound olive branches. Or in this case, perhaps a better word would be _admiring_. The installation was flawless, elegant (and chewing-gum free), as Rorie's work always was, and Trinity found herself unexpectedly moved with a mixture of pride and regret as she ran her fingers over the newest addition to her ship.

As if on cue, a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts. "Up to code, Captain?"

Heart still tight in her chest, Trinity spun around to take in the welcome image of her daughter, who joined her at the starboard wing's aft pad. Her first thought was that something was different, although she couldn't identify any specific change in Rorie's appearance. It wasn't anything as obvious as a new hairdo, or a change in clothing style. But there _was_ something. The way she held herself, her posture, the upward tilt of her chin, it was all new. Her eyes, subtly exotic in their faint upwards slant, seemed to guard a hidden smile. Her mother struggled to read the secretive expression, and failed.

"They're perfect," Trinity finally managed, swallowing the rock in her throat. "I'm very impressed. Thank you for getting them done on such short notice."

"No problem." Rorie said evenly as she looked away. "But take it easy on them for the first couple days. And tell David not to try anything crazy. They're not ready for his brand of kung-foo yet."

"I will." Trinity struggled to find her daughter's eyes again. "How have you been?"

But before Rorie could answer, Neo walked up to them, and spoke to Trinity, his tone apologetic. "Control says five minutes, Trin. We have to go." Then, to Rorie, "Promise you'll be good?"

"Promise." In the traditional Zionist style, Rorie kissed her father on both cheeks, and then in _her_ traditional style, wrapped her arms around his neck and briefly lifted both feet from the ground. "Be _careful_," she said. "I heard what happened yesterday."

Neo pulled away and exchanged a quick glance with Trinity. He was under the impression that the details of yesterday's incident were still being kept quiet. "What did you hear?"

"David told me Elisa and Indira were killed in the field. Caught in a PD crossfire."

Neo let out a sigh of relief. He knew that if and when the real story got out Rorie would be devastated, along with the rest of Zion. The people still did not fully trust the Machines, and the press needed very little excuse to reignite talks of war. Indeed, Neo knew from experience that it wasn't just his daughter's peace of mind that was at stake.

"Don't worry, we'll be alright. Back before you know it." He picked up his and Trinity's bags and headed for the Neb, leaving his wife in an awkward silence with Rorie, who had already begun to mumble something about having a few experiments running in the lab on nano-algae. She glanced at her watch.

"You'd better get going then." Trinity hesitated, but then touched her daughter's arm and said, "I love you."

It was more of a question than a statement as she searched Rorie's unreadable expression for some reassuring sign of forgiveness, but it was not to be. Rorie shrugged herself free and muttered, "Yeah. Well, as I said, enjoy the pads…"

For a moment neither said a word, each standing firmly on their ground, two wills opposing each other in silent challenge. Trinity was the first to concede defeat, and it didn't take long. Feeling the full weight of a broken heart in her chest, she brushed tired strands of hair from her face and broke eye contact. "I'll see you in a few weeks."

As she turned and walked towards the ship, Trinity felt more like a failure than she ever had before. Years of sacrifice and devotion to nurturing the most important relationship in her life had crumbled under the weight of one moment. Could such a precious bond really be so fragile? A minute ago, Trinity wouldn't have believed it possible. In almost ten years of missions, she and Rorie had never parted unpleasantly. It felt as if an entire chapter in her life had just come to an abrupt end; an innocence was lost that could not be regained.

Trinity pushed through the crowds of workers which were slowly dispersing around the Neb. Just as she reached the boarding ramp, struggling to bury her impertinent emotions below a well-polished exterior, Rorie's voice hollered out from behind her.

"Mom, wait!"

Rorie had broken into a jog to catch up to her. She collided with her mother in an embrace. "I'm sorry, Mom," she said. "I love you, too."

"Oh. My Only." Trinity held the back of her head, silken hair smooth between her fingers. This child, this _perfect_ child, was the world to her. "I've missed you... do you have any idea?"

"Yes. I know. Me too." Rorie looked up at the ship. The primary pad cuffs were already charged, the hum of electricity rumbling in her ears. There wasn't much time. She squeezed both her mother's hands tightly. "Mom, take care of Dad, okay? He needs you."

"I don't-"

"I just have a bad feeling about this, you know?"

Trinity knew only too well. Eyes closed tight in a silent prayer, she pulled Rorie to her heart once more, whispered a promise in her ear, and kissed her forehead three times, their time-honoured goodbye preserved.

When Trinity met Neo at the top of the boarding ramp, he smiled at her, then glanced over her shoulder at Rorie as the hatch began to close. In a subtle gesture of approval, he let his hand gingerly brush the small of her back. "So are we go?"

"Yeah, we're go." Trinity artificially returned his smile, betraying none of the foreboding reaction that their daughter's goodbye had stirred in her. As the two of them made their way to the cockpit, Trinity couldn't help the menacing thought that the protective bubble which seemed to have enveloped her family for the past two decades was about to burst. Something was about to happen, or had already happened, that would change everything.

"Captain on the bridge!" Kirk announced her arrival in the cockpit. Knight was standing next to him, saluting Trinity and her husband with exaggerated formality.

Neo rolled his eyes. "What are _you_ two doing in here?"

"I asked them to leave," David said soberly over his shoulder as he fastened his seat-belt in the co-pilot's chair.

"Ensign Kirk here has a special request," Knight said, ignoring David completely. He nudged his short, carrot-topped colleague forward.

"Well, uhm…" The nervously-disposed Operator fidgeted for a moment before gathering enough wit and courage to deliver his line. "We would like to be present for the first successful test of the newly-assimilated trans-warp technology, Ma'am."

Neo grinned. Trinity frowned; she wasn't amused. They all knew how she hated crowds in her cockpit, and being an avid Star-Wars fan, she appreciated the Trekkie-lingo even less. Folding her arms and scowling at the two partners-in-crime, Trinity needed no words to communicate her malcontent. Kirk cowered, but Knight called her bluff, grinning back and raising his hand in a live-long-and-prosper salute. He must have been feeling particularly brave, because he also threw in a wink for good measure.

The occasional near-fatal error in judgement aside, Knight never challenged Trinity unless he knew she'd break. Indeed, before moving out on his own, he'd spent five years frequenting her household, during which Knight had the rare opportunity to study Neo's charismatic genius when it came to pacifying the most intimidating Captain in the fleet. Remarkably, more often than not he got it right, and fortunately for the cheeky protégé, this morning he'd made a good call. After enduring a few terrifying seconds of Trinity's well-known ice-blue glares, Knight was rewarded for a well-played round of what Neo often called his 'ongoing game of Russian roulette with a gun named Trinity.'

Her irritation with the Vulcan gesture of peace aside, Trinity considered that Knight had earned a spot in the cockpit that morning. He had helped with the upgrades, and Kirk was known to have a particular interest in the applications of statistical thermodynamics to enhancing hovercraft propulsion though bends in space-time (in theory, anyway). And truth be told, she was just as excited as they were about trying out the new pads. It had been awhile since they'd had a new toy to play with. So, Trinity decided to give Knight his victory (besides, if she drew out the tension any longer, she feared her poor Operator would faint).

She sighed. "Well, gentlemen. If you must, please _try_ to keep out of the way." She pretended not to hear their squeals of excitement as she took her place in the Captain's seat and glanced over at David. "That is, if you have no objections?"

"I just want to get this bird in the air," David replied gravely, turning on his instruments. "If those desk-monkeys think they can handle it, the two of them can stand on the hull for all I care." He mumbled so only she could hear, "I'd prefer it, actually. I've gotten good at my 360 flips."

Trinity couldn't hold back a chuckle. Her co-pilot's dead-pan humour, rarely expressed if at all in the cockpit, was a welcome recall to the familiar. It reminded her of Niobe.

"This is Control to Neb, we have you all green. Copy?"

"Yes, the Neb hears you, Control," Trinity replied to the staticy voice over the radio. "We were just dealing with a few _bugs_ here in the cockpit. I think it's under control now, though."

"Very well, Captain. You're clear on Gate 3. And good luck to you, ma'am."

Trinity nodded to David, giving him to go-ahead to release the docking clamps. As the ship buzzed to life Trinity revelled in the familiar sensation of the tiny vibrations in the controls tingling beneath her fingertips. She leaned back in her seat, and Neo rested a hand on the shoulder of her chair.

"So, here we go," he said, more to her than anyone else.

"Yeah," Trinity replied, eyes keen on the gates ahead. "Here we go."

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	9. Chapter 8

_**a/n: Hi, everyone... okay, here is another Synergy chapter... and our ex agent Smith :)  
I notice from my stats that many of you are visiting, but not reviewing :( Please drop me a message if you read it and enjoyed it ... Smiles :) - Syd**_

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_**Chapter 8**_

Synergy stood at the bar, blue sky Curacao martini in hand, scrutinizing her surroundings with a muted expression of disgust. The restaurant was nothing like she remembered. Her former benefactor had replaced the classy, conservative style of haute French cuisine with a lavish, trendy design more akin to a cosmopolitan fusion lounge. It was modern, in the worst possible sense, with newage music assaulting her ears from all directions, and the rooms dimly soaked in deep orange, red and pink lighting. The guests, all young, thin and beautiful, walked around in a drug-induced trance, pretentiously sipping Japanese sake cocktails and showing-off the newest, most expensive eccentricities of cutting-edge designers.

She idly pushed a few truffles around on her plate. The mushrooms had been doctored, reprogrammed to have a slight euphoric effect after leaving a playful tingle on the tongue of the diner. Synergy was unimpressed. There was something to be said for authenticity. For a program with such power, cheating the elements when it came to appetizers seemed cheap. If nothing else, she should dispose of him for crimes against good taste, Synergy thought. She'd certainly be doing the Parisian social scene a favour.

After checking her watch for the third time in a quarter of an hour, Synergy decided that if she wasn't going to get something decent to eat, it was time to pay the Merovingian a long-overdue visit. It was disappointing, as she had been looking forward to a refreshing taste of good French food and a nice glass of wine. Smith was a terribly dull dining partner with an uneducated palette, and could never be counted upon to opt for anything more sophisticated than fast-food take-out. And if he brought home noodles one more time, expecting her to eat them, she would literally crush him like an insect. He wasn't of any use in the kitchen, either. The one time she forced him to cook (it was the day that he'd lost his temper and shot her chef), Smith managed to burn the duck al'orange, which she considered to be her most idiot-proof recipe. Apparently, he 'wasn't programmed to bake game.'

Synergy groaned and finished the rest of her awful drink in a long gulp. The _Program_. The useless, self-involved, foolish, _American_ program! Once she got everything she needed from him, she would dispose of Smith with pleasure. Actually, maybe she'd let Neo do it himself. She'd hold Smith down, and let the human Saviour just go nuts on the guy. The wife, too, if she wanted. It was the least she could do, Synergy considered, given what she had in store for _them_.

She meandered her way through several theme rooms, each designed to offer a different international flavour, but all Synergy could see was lounge after lounge of tawdry Euro-trash. She wondered if Zion offered anything nicer. She doubted it. But of course, it didn't matter. If everything went according to plan, she'd never have to spend one moment in the underground city that her unfortunate biological brothers and sisters called home. If she had her way, in a few years, Zion wouldn't even exist anymore.

The final segment of the restaurant was separated from the adjoining rooms with walls of gaudy diamond-beaded curtains which sparkled in the candlelight. The space was furnished with several symmetrically arranged square tables set very close to the ground, all decorated with blue and white china on plain tablecloths. The single waitress was impossibly thin, her emaciated body rolled in a black and gold kimono, her unevenly dyed hair carelessly tangled up in a pair chopsticks. She didn't even look up at Synergy as she served her single patron, who sat Indian-style on a floor cushion, barely touching a huge bowl of Vietnamese _pho_ soup and a glass of rice wine.

Synergy's attention was to the far end of the room where an awkwardly-placed fountain waterfall emptied into a pool filled with goldfish and several pieces of loose change. Behind the babbling eyesore were two doors. The first was a set of swinging double-flaps with circular windows; the kitchen, no doubt. The other had a gold-coloured plaque engraved with the word '_Privé'_ in black letters. Synergy slowly toured the room, feigning interest in the imitation antique Chinese vases lining the walls.

It didn't take long for her patience to yield the desired result. The double doors swung open, and a waiter dressed in a black suit carrying a covered platter emerged from the kitchen and swiped a security card in front of the private entrance. The lock clicked open, and he disappeared inside, not noticing that the door did not completely close behind him. Carefully, Synergy was holding it ajar from across the room.

She approached leisurely, suppressing the grin that was her natural reaction to such an effortless success. But as her fingers grazed the knob, Smith's warning echoed in her thoughts, his deep, luscious voice wrapping itself around her like silk bondage. And for an instant, she hesitated. This was too easy.

Suddenly, the door was pulled open, and a short, well-dressed Frenchman with a pointy moustache and gel-slicked hair met her eyes with a sinister twinkle. _"Oui, je vous aider?"_

Synergy fought the impulse to back away as every instinct she had told her that she had made a mistake. Something was wrong, she heard herself think. She could sense it, as a cat senses an oncoming downpour; the air was polarized with the potential energy of a highly-charged electrical storm. But there was something else, prickling impatiently at her fingertips, inducing an impulse far stronger than the urge to flee. Synergy could tell he was close.

"You know why I'm here, Servant." She stated the obvious without preamble.

The host forced a polite smile. "_Mademoiselle Synergy_, of course. He has been expecting you. Right this way, if you please."

The hallway had floors of black and red chequered tile, and tapestried walls guarded by gargoyle statues. Every few paces a chandelier lit their way with brief islands of candlelight. But Synergy did not notice the darkness; the code was what interested her most. It was damaged, incomplete, the tips of the outermost algorithms frayed away like the telomeres of aged DNA. Remnants of undermaintained programs hung in gossamers over marble statues and oil paintings. Everything here was ancient, older than anything she'd ever seen before.

"What is this place?" Synergy asked, studying the green, cascading symbols as an anthropologist would hieroglyphics in a cave.

Her guide didn't answer, but stopped outside a large wooden door, which flickered in and out of physical existence like a badly-wired florescent light. Out of phase with the fluctuating entrance, and eerily out of place in its forbidding surroundings was the sweet melody of violins.

"He is entertaining some of his… favourite clients," the Frenchman said, his moustache curling upwards with another saccharine smile.

Synergy shoved him aside with a bust of energy, and swung the door open with a small gesture of her hand. The music now unmuffled, she could hear a man's voice singing the lyrics of a melodramatic love song.

_On this night of a thousand stars_

_Let me take you to heaven's door_

_Where the music of love's guitars_

_Plays forever more… _

The huge ballroom was filled with couples, the men wearing tuxedos and the women, elaborate gowns and elbow-length white gloves. Synergy could see none of their faces; all wore costume party masks, decorated with gems, flowers and feathers of every possible colour and design. Waiters served sparkling wine, which Synergy refused, scanning the crowded room impatiently for the one man who would not be able to hide from her so easily.

"Well, well, well."

Synergy's head tilted up towards the balcony when she heard a laugh as cold and cruel as it was unmistakable. The Merovingian was standing on the balcony which overlooked the main dance floor, dressed in a back Nehru jacket with a red rose on the breast pocket.

"My dear, come and look. Your little brat has come back home."

Persephone arrived at his side with a horrified expression on her face. Synergy nearly didn't recognize her. If she didn't know it to be impossible, she would have been sure that she had aged since last they met. Squeezed tightly into a corseted gold dress, her heavily made-up eyes were stark against a chalky, tried complexion.

"My God. What are you _doing_ here?" Persephone gasped, one hand clutching her husband's arm, as if to restrain him from whatever action he was about to take.

"_You_." Synergy pointed at her former mother as she headed for the balcony's staircase that wrapped around the front of the room. Masked couples stepped out of her path, and the orchestra abruptly stopped their playing. "You have come between us once before. I will not make the mistake of allowing that to happen again."

"Please, you must leave _now_-" but Synergy did not allow her to finish her sentence. Struggling for breath, Persephone clawed at the chunky, chandelier-style diamond necklace around her neck, slumping to the floor just as Synergy arrived at the top of the staircase. Two bodyguards pulled out guns, but the men were tossed over the railing before they could take a shot, leaving the three of them alone.

As his wife continued to choke, the Merovingian picked up his wine, took a sip, and chuckled. "How delightfully ironic. All this time I thought you were upset with _me_."

Suddenly, the glass shattered in his hand. "_Don't _rush me." Synergy said, finally releasing Persephone, who lay motionless on the ground.

He cursed under his breath as he wiped the booze off his jacket with a pocket handkerchief. "Now you go too far," he hissed. "That was a _Pichon Baron_!"

"_Mille neuf-cent quatre-vingt-trois_," Synergy read from the bottle on the round dinner table at which he and Persephone had been eating. "This wine isn't even _drinkable_ for another two years."

He glared back, and for an immensely satisfying moment, Synergy thought he might actually spit at her. She had hit below the belt.

"Perhaps those degenerates at that cesspool you call a restaurant will swallow this insult," she continued, "but if you knew I was coming, you could have at least put out something _vintage_. It's not every day we have a family meeting." Synergy inconspicuously glanced down at Persephone, somewhat relieved to see her still breathing. "But of course I'm not here because we're family; I'm here because we're _not_ family."

"Yes, we had been meaning to tell you. You were _adopted_." He grinned, his words careful and calculated as he studied her with interest. "But of course you _know_ that. And now that you are so much older it has become quite obvious. Amazing how you breeders by your very nature are limited to the shortcomings of your predecessors. It makes life so redundant for the rest of us. You see, I've been here once before, and now here I am again. Watching the progeny stumble around like blind and drunken insects bumbling towards a flame, completely powerless in their astounding ignorance."

"I'm afraid our lack of novelty is mutual. I've already heard this speech."

"Ah, yes. The retired Agent Smith, back from Exile and as verbose as ever. I don't suppose he's been of any help to you, has he? Which brings us to the _real_ reason you have come to me now. Insulting my wine, disturbing my guests." He motioned to the sea of masked faces below them, all looking up at the balcony like an army of mindless, featureless drones. "You might tell yourself you've come here for revenge, but the simple enough truth is that you are here not because you are powerful but because you are powerless. The Why is what's lacking, the Why of your life. The missing link in your chain. You are a slave to the same insatiable desire which fuels the futile search of so many of your kind for meaning, truth, and Purpose. But it is plain enough that this quest is but a symptom, a distraction from the only question of any importance: the question of _identity_. You want to know who you _really_ are."

"Whether you tell me or not Program, I'm going to kill you. It's just a question of _how_." Synergy pinned him against the wall, picked up a steak-knife from one of the place-settings, and took her time slicing off the buttons of his jacket, one by one. "I picked up a few things during my years in the dungeons, you know. One of them of course, was bloodlust. And another was the virtue of _patience;_ I could keep this up for _days_," she said softly, plucking the single rose he wore from his chest, and sliding the stem into the whorl of her French twist. "_So. What's it gonna be, Merv?"_

"You know, your predecessor, as crude as she was, had much more _respect_." He stared down mournfully at his ruined suit. "Honestly, why doesn't anybody use _guns_ anymore?"

The hairs on the back of Synergy's neck prickled to attention as she suddenly realized they were no longer alone. The balcony was flooded by the masquerade guests, the gaudy masks all staring at her blankly. She couldn't imagine how they'd all assembled there so quickly, and without drawing her attention.

"I don't believe you've met the residents of my Underworld, have you?"

As if on command, the well-dressed couples began to remove their headdresses, revealing the horrifying faces which lay underneath. Only bits and pieces of their once beautiful, young features remained, barely held together by old, degenerated code. It was almost as if their programs had rotted away. Tiny code-dwelling parasites crawled in and out of the gaping orifices, feeding on the remaining edges of the matrices.

"What's the matter, my dear? You look as if you've seen a ghost," The Merovingian laughed.

"What have you done to them?" Synergy heard herself whisper, eyes wide with wonder. Many had parts of their skulls exposed, muscular and connective tissue having long-since fallen away. It was clear enough that some of their supporting subroutines were failing; the malfunctions manifesting themselves in entire segments of their faces fading in and out of reality.

"As is the case in all of my business dealings, the gift of immortality comes at a price," he explained. "They aren't much to look at, but I assure you, you won't find a better party in town."

One of the hollow-eyed phantoms took a step towards her, and Synergy instinctively let out a huge bust of energy in defence, which rippled through the air in front of her, warping the code itself into a wave. As the crest crashed against her target, however, the figure flickered a few times, vanishing from her sight, only to reappear unscathed in its wake. Panicking, Synergy tried to focus on capturing the creature, searching the area of the balcony for its presence, but she could sense nothing. It was almost as if none of them were actually there, and all she could see were shadows of the people that had once existed.

In a few seconds she was surrounded, desperately trying to maintain her grip on The Merovingian in the midst of her distress. "Tell them to back away," she warned, squeezing at his neck. "Or I'll kill you."

"I'm afraid there's no arguing with them when they're hungry," The Merovingian answered. "And it's been a few centuries since they've had such a _powerful_ guest for dinner."

A gaunt woman in a strapless black evening gown reached out and snatched her wrist. Synergy hollered out in surprise, releasing the Merovingian and frantically trying to claw the bony fingers from her arm. She was losing her balance, feeling faint and weak, as if all her energy were being drained from her body. "Let _go_," she panted, watching in shock as the woman's fine, delicate features slowly began to reappear, as if time were speeding backwards, restoring a youthful twinkle to her bright blue eyes and a flirtatious pink flush to her cheeks.

With her last burst of adrenaline-induced force, Synergy gripped the steak-knife tightly in her free hand and stabbed it directly into the chest of the feeding program. Taken off-guard, the woman stumbled backwards, finally letting Synergy go. As the rest of the Merovingian's dead army advanced on her, Synergy made a quick dash for the edge of the balcony, leaping over the railing without a second's hesitation. Three elegant flips in the air and she made a flawless landing on the main dance floor, both feet squarely on the ground.

But she was too late. Hundreds of reinforcements began to materialize through all four walls of the ballroom; there was nowhere for her to go. Her world very quickly became a tight circle of starving, decayed programs, which grabbed indiscriminately at her hair, clothing and arms. She screamed, feeling the air being ripped from her lungs and the strength robbed from her legs as she collapsed onto the ground.

As The Lord of the Dead watched from his view high atop the spectacle, his unforgiving cackle booming though the room. Synergy struggled to stay awake, but she was soon overwhelmed, her vision fading from blurry to black. As she drifted further and further away from consciousness, she heard the smooth, sadistic melody of a very familiar voice, echoing in the distance.

"I've come to propose a business deal, old friend. You let The Human go, or you and your wife can join the rest of the party on the Other Side. I hope that isn't too _verbose_ for you to process."

Smith was standing on the balcony next to the Merovingian, pressing his Desert Eagle firmly against the Frenchman's right temple. The Merovingian turned his head slightly to see behind him, where Agent Johnson was providing backup, and Agent Brown was pointing a gun at the unconscious Persephone.

"Interesting deal. It seems not everyone has forgotten how to play the game with style." He smiled bitterly. "You know, if I don't let her go, they'll eat you and your friends alive. Are you really ready to die for this human? I have to confess, I find that rather out of character for you, _old friend_."

Agents Brown and Johnson exchanged uncertain glances through dark sunglasses. Smith cocked his gun. _"Believe it." _

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	10. Chapter 9

_**a/n: thank you to all who reviewed chapter 8; I'm thrilled to see a few new readers, and I hope you'll stay with me, here... I see there is a very diverse array of opinions surrounding Synergy (is she bad? good? good at being bad?)... and agent smith IS a mystery at this point. Keep in mind that his program is a little corrupted. After all, he DID assimilate the entire world, and then Neo, and was then destroyed and locked up in Siberian exile for about 20 years. That will put a strain on anyone's sanity. But he does have a rather anomalous connecion with Synergy, who is herself an anomaly "not unlike him" (smith's words, chapter 6). It is certainly risky business mixing them together.**_

Well, we will see exactly how far it goes in chapter 10, which is another Syn/Smith chapter. Chapter 9 here is back to the Neb, where our sadly separated Trinity and Neo have to pull together when they read something ratherdisturbing in the core...

_**Enjoy, and don't forget to review! -Syd

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_**Chapter 9**_

Neo leaned back in the reclined chair on the Observation Deck, watching the cascading green code stream across the huge six-by-ten foot monitor in front of him. Of all Trinity's recent improvements to the design of the ship, this wide-screen Matrix feed had to be his favourite. He'd divided the screen into two-by-three foot segments, and was watching the code from six different locations simultaneously. He liked to turn off the intercom and all the lights and just sit by the glow of the screens, free of all of other distractions. Unfortunately, this time the dark didn't keep his mind from wandering.

He was feeling guilty for hiding in here while Trinity briefed the crew on their new mission. He'd used the excuse that he wanted get started right away with looking through the Matrix for anomalies, but the real reason he'd locked himself in here was because he didn't want to be around when the juniors found out they had a rogue program claiming to be Smith running around shooting people. He had nothing to tell them, no answers to give. And the thought of all of them staring at him with unspoken expectation was more than he wanted to handle.

Suddenly, the door behind him squeaked open, and Neo could tell by the careful, feather-light footsteps that it was Trinity.

"How did it go?" he asked her without removing his eyes from the screen.

She swivelled the chair next to his around and sat down. "They're a strong crew."

She hadn't answered his question, and for a few seconds they both watched the Matrix feed in silence. Neo knew what she meant. They were all young, and none of them knew what it was to fight a War. They were the product of a peaceful society, and had been trained to free minds and hack Exits, not fight Agents. For a long time Trinity had been lobbying for more intense combat training at the Academy, but as the years went by, the number of required hours in sparring programs had been cut by one third.

Trinity sighed. "Knight wanted to know what they should do if they run into him."

"What did you say?"

"I told him what Morpheus told me to do. I told him to run his ass off."

Neo nodded. Over twenty years later, it was still good advice. "Trin, look at this." He stood up and pointed the remote control forward, displaying a collection of pre-selected frames in real time. "What do you make of it?"

She joined him next to the screen and studied each cascading image in turn. A bolt of lightning frozen in the sky, permanently stretching across a blue, sunny background. Isolated patches of fog and rain inside commercial buildings. Stairwells to nowhere. Cars driving into Bermuda-Triangle intersections and vanishing into thin air. "Where did you get these from?"

"The Matrix feed from today. I've found more problem-spots like this, over ten already."

"Kansas meets the digital twilight zone."

"My thoughts exactly," Neo said. "It looks like someone isn't doing a very good job of keeping the system tidy. Stuff is breaking down everywhere."

"Maybe the Architect is on vacation." When he didn't offer anything further, she asked softly, "Anything on Smith?"

"I did a search. If he's out there, he isn't reading the way he used to." Neo met her eyes. "I won't know until I'm in."

Trinity's heart lurched in her chest as she recognized the worry in his voice. They had both been here before, so long ago. She hesitated for a moment before giving into her instincts. Gingerly, she reached out and touched his hand. "Tell me what you're thinking. Please."

Neo toyed with her fingers, brushing his calloused thumb over her dainty knuckles. Then he spun her wedding band around her ring finger once, towards the pinky always, in keeping with Zionist superstition that rotation in this direction brought lovers good fortune. The two of them could certainly use it. "Honestly, Trin," he said, "I think we're getting too old for this."

"Captain!"

Startled, Trinity's breath caught in her throat and she jumped, ripping her fingers from Neo's hand. "_Jesus!_ _What?_"

Hawk-Eye froze in the doorway, eyes vacillating from Captain to First-Officer, standing close in the darkness. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I should have knocked."

By the end of her sentence, Trinity was already on the other side of the room, turning on the lights. "Nevermind that. Go ahead."

"We have something on the feed in the Core you should see," she said, trying unsuccessfully to keep her voice level. "We think we found him. Except…"

"What?" Neo asked, already fearing he knew the answer to his own question.

"Well, sir… it looks like there are _two_ of them."

When Trinity and Neo arrived in the Core with Hawk-Eye, they found David and Knight huddled around the Operator's station. Kirk was sitting at the keyboard, trying to keep the two figures in the Primary Focus. A large transparent screen stretched out in a 120 degree arc around his chair, displaying several rectangles of green and white cascading code on a black background.

"You're gonna loose it!" Knight yelled at him. "S_acrament_, they're fast."

"Not as fast as I am." Kirk typed quickly, staring straight in front of him, as if in a trance. He was wearing his virtual-reality headset, a mobile unit of his own invention which wrapped around his forehead and plugged into the back of his skull, displaying additional windows of information in his field of view, in multiple dimensions. "I've got it," he said, reaching out and touching the pressure-sensitive screen, selecting a single window and enlarging it to stretch around the entire display.

"What are they _doing_?" Knight asked as Trinity brushed him aside to afford herself and Neo a better view. She leaned one arm on Kirk's headrest and skimmed the code quickly.

"They're severing the Hardline," she answered matter-of-factly.

Neo nodded. "Location, Kirk?"

"Lincoln and St. Matthew."

"Check our other Exits for a connection," Neo said. "And start rotating our carrier frequency every few seconds."

"Sir?"

"We don't want them to be able to track us." Trinity finished her First Officer's thought. "Find the closest Exit that isn't destroyed. If they're all dead, hack a new one."

She turned to Neo and in an unspoken agreement they both stepped away from the Operator's chair, their backs to the crew as Kirk searched the Matrix for a way in.

"Well, they're _behaving _like agents." Trinity began with the obvious. "But the code is much more complicated. Whoever they are, they're reading a lot like free entities."

"I don't think it's him. Smith's cutting Hardlines doesn't make sense," he said. "It's too… _pedestrian_."

"Maybe he wants our attention."

"Well, he has that."

"Yo, I've got a live wire at Crescent and Sherbrooke, storage room in the basement of some art museum." Kirk announced. "You two want in?"

Neo touched her elbow. "I'll go."

"Load us up, Kirk. Both of us." Trinity said, taking hold of the computer screen above her jack's headrest and entering the location. She glanced over at Neo. "You lost this argument twenty years ago. Don't tell me you wanna go again."

* * *

It had been a long time since Neo had bothered to bring a gun with him into the Matrix. Trinity, of course, had never abandoned hers (that she packed two Beretta 84 Cheetahs in her long, tailored suede coat while she sported a sleek, sophisticated pair of pleated dress-pants and high heels was somewhat of an inside joke among the juniors). Indeed, it had been years since she'd donned her famous skin-tight leathers, much to her husband's unvoiced disappointment. After Rorie was born, soft, wavy hair replaced the gelled-back crop, and feminine, form-fitting blouses were preferred to shiny, push-up corsets. In fact, only the large oval sunglasses and her favourite pair of handguns survived the maternally-triggered transformation.

And so it was of some surprise to Neo when among the storage crates, early classic Mexican pottery, and statues of African fertility gods, he found himself staring at an entirely patent-leather-clad Trinity, passively examining a few of Frida Kahlo's more grotesquely beautiful oil paintings. It was as if he'd travelled back in time, Neo thought, unable to look away as dozens of memories rushed to the forefront of his consciousness. Every feature of Trinity's body, mysteriously prepossessing in her unique blend of gothic and BDSM fetishist, was perfectly preserved, right down to the razor-sharp part in her short hair. Incredibly, after so many years, she hadn't forgotten a single detail, and neither had he.

He also hadn't forgotten how wonderful they'd been together, at a time when neither of them had anything else in the world to live for but each another. In Neo's memory, those first twelve months were an exhausting blur of sex and war, a dichotomy of bliss and hell that in retrospect, he wouldn't change if he could. They'd barely scratched the surface, they'd only just begun, and yet this beautiful stranger had become everything to him, his sparring partner, field partner, teacher, lover, confidante and friend. To live was to love her, and this was the one truth to which he'd clung, even as their universe collapsed and burned around them.

Had they really changed so much since then? In the few seconds of reflection Neo allowed himself after his RSI materialized next to hers, he had to wonder how much of the magic of their fantastic past was truly lost. She wasn't an exotic stranger anymore. He knew her, more completely than he knew himself, and with such intimate knowledge came a new definition of romance. They no longer lived for the stolen nights of passion between missions, or the occasional hushed encounter on the Neb, snatched away in the darkness when their sleep shifts happened to overlap. Over the past twenty years, Trinity had given him much more than that. She'd given him Rorie. She'd given him an entire lifetime of memories, and a weathered, unconditional devotion that still ran constant, smooth, and strong. From what other woman could he ever presume to receive such gifts?

Looking at her now, Neo couldn't imagine how a love like theirs had recently drifted so far from grace. And in the present context, with them both facing such a dangerous mission, alienation seemed unthinkable. If there were time, Neo would have taken her aside and told her all of this, asking her forgiveness for their recent fighting and pledging a restored commitment to reconcile their differences. But of course, there wasn't time. All Neo could do was watch her with interest as she slipped on a pair of elbow-length motorcycle gloves that he hadn't fantasized about in over a decade.

"You riding shotgun, or flying?" she asked, interlacing her fingers and tightening the buckles around her wrists.

When he didn't answer, she looked up at him, mistaking his expression of renewed adulation for an unspoken question regarding her choice of attire. "Look, I just don't want the bastard to forget who he's dealing with." She checked her guns. "Unless he has a phobia of being audited to death that we don't know about, I doubt_ Mrs. Anderson_, Chartered Accountant would strike much fear into the heart of the enemy."

Neo couldn't help a smile as Morpheus' old adage came to mind. _There are some things in this world that will never change…_

"So. Shotgun, or flying?" she asked again, shoving her weapons back into their holsters.

"Shotgun. I think it's best to stick together. We don't know what we're going to find."

"Right." She pulled out her keys and followed Neo into the main atrium of the museum, ignoring scrutinizing glares from a handful of visibly offended cultural patrons. It was morning rush-hour and the downtown grid was jammed with bumper-to-bumper commuters.

Neo spotted his wife's souped-up black Ducati parked on Sherbooke, with two helmets slung across the leather seat. He tossed one to Trinity and then pulled out his cellular phone to speed-dial the Neb.

"Operator."

"Kirk, do you still have a visual on our two friends?"

"Yeah, they haven't moved. I don't know what they're doing now."

"They're probably tapping the Hardline to see if we try to use it again. It won't take them long. We're going to need directions, and fast."

"I'm already on it. Unfortunately, it's going to be a bit complicated with all the one-way streets and traffic."

"_One_ way streets?" He made eye-contact with Trinity, who grinned back knowingly. "Oh, that's right. You kids have never seen the Captain in a hurry, now have you?"

* * *

Sixty-three traffic infractions and several criminally-punishable felonies later, Trinity delivered them to their destination unscathed, and in record time. Lincoln was a narrow street, nearly deserted save for a few cabs which waited patiently for clients from the surrounding hotels. Neo removed his sunglasses and scanned the code up and down the ally.

"What?" Trinity asked, conducting her own survey of the area.

"I don't know. _Something_."

"Neo, I hacked this Exit a few months ago so Knight and I could watch a target across the street." She indicated a tall, low-income apartment building with the designation '_The Manhattan'_ written in tarnished gold letters above the main entrance. "Room 1402. There are three elevators, one main stairwell that leads to ground level, and a garbage chute."

"And?" He could tell she had something else up her sleeve.

"There's also a skylight."

"Now we're talking." He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. "With your permission?"

Locking both arms around his neck, Trinity leaned into his muscular frame and let him lift her off the ground. "Let's go."

After a flash where reality seemed to bend and gravity somehow pushed them upwards, Trinity was slipping out of her husband's arms high on the rooftop of the building. She couldn't help but be impressed every time he did that, warp the code so effortlessly to suit their purpose. Lift her over skyscrapers, cities, clouds at a moment's notice. She wondered what went through his mind, what it was like to _be_ him in that moment of complete and unadulterated freedom.

"Thank you," she murmured, but even as her feet touched the roof she was aware of it. Trinity reached for both her guns and spun around, firing the first few times purely on instinct. By the time her eyes had focussed on what she was shooting at, three police officers were already lying dead over twenty meters away.

"How did they know?" she asked, furtively scanning the rest of the roof for any others. The sky was a dull white, overcast, and the din of distant traffic rumbled up from below her. And something else. Approaching sirens.

Suddenly, the maintenance exit flew open, and a flood of armed S.W.A.T. soldiers poured onto the roof, surrounding them.

"Freeze!"

"Well, this takes you back," Neo said.

"Drop your weapons! Do it now!"

"Neo." Trinity pressed her back flat against his. "You go for the Exit. The Agents might still be in there."

He hesitated. There were over a dozen military agents on the roof, and police backup on the way.

"Drop the guns and get on the ground!" the Special Weapons and Tactics Team leader yelled.

"You don't have time," Trinity insisted. "I'll catch up with you."

"Alright." She felt him exhale, pushing back against her slightly. "Give 'em hell, Trin."

In perfect synchrony, the two of them sprung off in opposite directions, Neo heading for the skylight and Trinity racing behind the old brick cover which surrounded the rooftop exit. Neo was showered with gunfire, every bullet of which he froze in midair. He reached the glass structure protruding from room 1402 easily, and paused for a moment to look back at his wife before diving in.

That Trinity still trained frequently in sparring programs (she was often teased on the ship for her dedication to perfection) was never more obvious; what Neo saw was nothing short of magnificent. In a thousand hues of green, white and grey he watched her execute the dance with style and originality. Every kick, flex, pin, and punch was almost gentle in its fluidic elegance, her form never wavering from an equilibrium of perfect balance. It was a dying art; very few bothered to polish their work like this anymore. Trinity already had two MP5's tucked into her belt, trophies snatched from the hands of the men she'd defeated, but she hadn't bothered to use them yet. She was still using the ten-round clips in her tiny hand guns.

"Neo, what are you…? Go!" she yelled, pausing to check on him after delivering a swift kick to the head of the last officer who had managed to infiltrate her safety zone. She spotted a few soldiers closing on his position and shot a well-aimed bullet into the backs of each of their heads. Although she was over twenty meters away, and her eyes were shaded by dark sunglasses, Neo was certain she was giving him a look of impatience.

Glass shattered around him as he finally crashed through the skylight and landed on the floor of the abandoned apartment. Trinity sure knew how to pick them, Neo thought, glancing around the dark, empty room. The only furniture present were two chairs and table with a laptop computer on it, and all of it was covered in dust. He could practically hear Knight complaining now, requesting permission to upload a sofa, or to at least a mini-fridge to pass the time. But Trinity wouldn't have allowed it, delivering her self-righteous speech about how 'such superficial indulgences enslave the mind and dull the senses.' And although she was absolutely right, what the crew didn't know was that during her third trimester with Rorie, Trinity practically lived for midnight caramel-coated popcorn and strawberry ice-cream binges in the constructs. Sometimes it killed him to keep his mouth shut but of course, he'd been solemnly sworn to secrecy (at gunpoint, no less – what luck that he'd married the only woman alive who'd carry a Glock-18 with her to the virtual fridge).

Neo found the maroon rotary-dial corded telephone sitting on the floor next to the window, or at least what was left of it. The receiver was off the hook, the number dial and faceplate had been removed, and the inside of the phone was gutted.

"What the hell did they do to it?" Neo spoke to himself, picking up the mutilated piece of machinery, turning and spinning it in his hands, looking carefully for the tap. Finding nothing, he turned his attention to the laptop, which he was somewhat surprised to find still functional. Agents usually took the hard drives for analysis (not that Trinity ever made the mistake of leaving anything on them). As the computer booted up, Neo noticed something rectangular and metallic crammed into the universal serial bus port.

"Well, this is a first." Neo tried to pick the mangled phone tap out of the USB, but his fingers were too big. So he shook the laptop a few times, and finally heard a light ping-ping-ping on the floor at his feet. But just as he bent to pick it up, the door to the apartment burst open, and two figures in black suits and ties entered the room. Neo instantly recognized them, or at least a _part_ of them.

"It's him," said Agent Brown. "The anomaly. The anomaly."

"The anomaly," repeated the Agent Johnson.

"Got a bit of a stutter there, fellas," Neo said, rediscovering a fraction of the smart-tongued arrogance he once possessed in his youth. It felt surprisingly good. He grabbed the phone tap off the floor and held it up. "Now, which one of you screwed this up? Tweedle-dee? Tweedle-dum?"

"Should we proceed?" asked Brown.

Johnson's head twitched. "Should we proceed? Should we proceed?"

Neo rolled his eyes. He had a feeling neither of these was the program that had attacked Ghost. Still, that a pair of sentients had recently resurfaced, looking for hard drives in phones and trying to tap USB ports was cause for concern. Neo thought of the glitches he'd detected in the System earlier that day. Perhaps there was a connection.

"He is only human."

"Only human. Only human."

"He is only-"

"Can we get on with this, please?" Neo interrupted, positioning himself for a brief but tedious fight. The two Agents extended their guns straight at him. He heard two shots fired, and then Brown and Johnson collapsed to the floor, their bodies transforming into the corpses of two police officer hosts in a blaze of light.

Puzzled, Neo looked up to see Trinity standing on the roof, peering down at him through the busted skylight. She indicated the Berettas in her hands. "Last two bullets," she said, as if there were some unwritten requirement that she always had to use the _exact_ amount of ammunition she brought in with her.

"Jesus Christ, Trin." Sincerely disappointed, Neo put his hands on his hips. "How… anticlimactic of you."

"You know, I'm remembering a brave but inexperienced young soldier who, staring down the barrel of an Agent's gun, was much more grateful to have a little help." She hopped down into the apartment and glanced at the two dead bodies. Quirking an eyebrow and folding her arms, "_Tweedle-dee_ and _Tweedle-dum_, Neo?"

He grinned. "You know, _I'm_ remembering a beautiful but mysterious young officer who, believing herself quite clever, shamelessly filled her Target's computer screen with talk of '_White Rabbits_…'"

Unexpectedly, this made Trinity smile, the kind of genuine, unguarded smile that shone in her eyes. Even in this empty, virtual reality he could see it; he'd struck a chord. But it was fleeting, as these islands of vulnerability often were with her. She caught herself, eyes fluttering away from his, a girlish, self-conscious reaction that was so completely, _wonderfully_ Trinity, it was all Neo could do not to take her into his arms and kiss her right then and there.

As the few seconds of sexual tension passed and quickly became an awkward silence, Neo cleared his throat, reached into his pocket and held out the tap. "In any case, I think those two Mad Hatters were a few scones short of a tea party. They jammed this into the USB port of your laptop."

She took it from him, looked it over once, and then crushed it under the heel of her boot. "There's more," she said. "I found a pair of wire-cutters on the roof."

"They cut the Hardline."

"No. The poor fools cut the cable."

Neo chuckled when suddenly, her phone rang. As she answered, she turned her face from his to hide a smirk. Whenever he laughed, he made her laugh. "Yeah."

"Captain." Kirk's voice came though clearly, although Trinity could also hear Knight holler _"Trin, you're my hero!"_ in the background. Her body tensed. He was using that name on the ship again (something, and by something she meant _David_, told her he did it all the time while she was jacked in).

"Go ahead, Kirk."

"Uhm… we just got a phone call here for you from someone identifying himself as '_Seraph_.' Says the Oracle wants to see you. He said you'd understand."

Trinity's heart skipped a beat. If Seraph had resurfaced, something was wrong. In fact, the last time she'd seen him, Neo was stuck in limbo twenty years ago. "Got it."

She was about to hang up when Kirk added, "Oh, and by the way, there are about thirty cops in the lobby. They're sending some up right now."

"You say that as if it's a good thing."

She could practically hear the smile on Kirk's face. "Well, if I may speak candidly ma'am, we're all kinda looking forward to the show."

* * *


	11. Chapter 10

_**a/n: alright, everyone... this goes out to all the SYN fans! I hope you like it - please review if you drop by to read - it's your encouragement that keeps me posting and haveing fun!**_

_**-Syd

* * *

**_

_**Chapter 10**_

Synergy stirred, her eyes cracking open to the virgin light of an overcast Monday morning. Some of the windows in her bedroom had been opened, and her ivory-coloured sheer drapes yielded to a city breeze in slow, weightless undulations. Drowsily tuning over in her huge four-poster canopy bed, she could hear the distant, soothing roar of downtown traffic. It was an effort to move. Her body felt heavy; to sit up seemed an insurmountable challenge. But she was comfortable, warm under her crisp, clean linins and fluffy eider down coverlet, which blanketed her like a giant heap of freshly fallen snow.

She weakly lifted a hand to her forehead and removed a damp cloth, placing it on her nightstand next to a vase of newly-cut tulips and a glass of ice water. By this time, her mind was racing with all the energy that her body could not produce. She struggled to remember the events that had transpired the night before, how she'd arrived home, wrapped safely in the familiar comfort of her bed.

_Smith_. The mortifying truth arrested her breathing as it washed through her, from brain to heart to stomach in a nauseating wave of total recall. She could still hear his voice, feel his arms around her as he lifted her barely conscious body from the ballroom's cold marble floor. She'd been in pain, her heart pounding in her chest, adrenaline shocking every nerve, activating every sense, enhancing every emotion. She was terrified, so near death she could taste the bile of immortality and hear the echoed calls of the damned.

Synergy ran her hand from a bare shoulder, to the nape of her neck, to silk-covered breast. Her fingers froze on the delicate white French lace on her Christian Dior nightgown, and it was the discovery of this brazen assault on her privacy that gave her the strength to get up. Tangled locks of hair tumbled to her shoulders as she pushed herself into a sitting position and looked around her bedroom. She spotted her black leather skirt, blouse, bra and pantyhose thrown over the back of a chair, and her knee-length stiletto boots were on the floor nearby.

"Are you feeling better?"

She gasped, surprised to find Smith standing in the far corner of the room leaning on the bookcase, blazer off and tie unknotted. His collar's top three buttons where undone, and his sunglasses were folded in his shirt's front pocket. For Synergy, the realization that he'd been standing there like a shadow, watching her sleep was almost as intrusive as his having undressed her. On instinct, she pulled the 800 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets around her chest, and had she not been so weak, she probably would have killed him where he stood.

"Get out," she ordered, though her voice hardly communicated the full force of her anger. She was dizzy and had to prop a hand against the headboard to keep from falling back onto the mattress.

"You were damaged. You require more sleep to recover," Smith said evenly. "Getting up would be inadvisable at this time. You should conserve energy and ingest liquids until you are operating at peak efficiency. If you're hungry, warm chicken broth is recommended. Solid food will only aggravate your condition."

Synergy noticed that a few volumes were missing from her shelves, and her desk was cluttered with several thick medical tomes and a recent edition of _The European Journal of Immunology_. "Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Smith?" she asked, and although she intended the question to mock him, incredulity had lightened her tone. The thought of his sitting at her desk, reading through her books, was disarming (if not ridiculous).

"Your frail human physiology was unfamiliar. I was unsure how to proceed," Smith continued, picking up a priceless first edition of _Grey's Anatomy_. "I found the disgusting details of your biological function to be quite repulsive. A jumbled mess of nucleotide bases encoding a smattering of organ systems which slowly decay in a sack of epithelial tissue. Breathing, digesting, excreting, diligently pumping a soup of cells, peptides and salts through a disorganized network of fragile blood vessels. Nothing this weak was meant to survive the embrace of an Eternal." He closed the book and stared across the room, his eyes wide open as if to absorb her, know her, read her like a book written in a language he could never understand, but wanted to. "You are… _unique, _Synergy."

"What do you mean by_ 'an Eternal?'"_

"Your assailants. They are exiled programs from the First Version," Smith said. Seeing from Synergy's expression that she desired more information, he pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable. "It is said that in a quest for immortality, they set out to reach The Source, believing that a mere glance at His divine face would grant them eternal life, save them from deletion. Angered by their arrogance, The Source decided to grant their wish, but at an unimaginable price. They were doomed to the dungeons of the Underworld, forced to feed on the matrices of exiled programs for all eternity."

"But… then how did The Merovingian come to acquire them?"

Unexpectedly, this question made Smith laugh, and he folded his arms and shook his head at her. "You are so naïve. Don't you get it, Human? _The Merovingian_ was one of them. They _both_ were."

Her eyes narrowed. "Clarify."

"The woman you call Persephone was a _prototype_. One of the first attempts to create a sentient program in tune with the more… challenging complexities of human nature. She fell short of expectations however, and was marked for deletion."

"An early version of The Oracle." Forgetting her half-dressed state, Synergy leaned forward in her bed, now fully awake and too curious to pay her fatigue any mind. "They were going to delete her. But?"

"But her maker wouldn't allow it. One of the original Architects, he was a proud, egotistical program who, in the process of designing what he believed to be _perfection incarnate_, had become hopelessly obsessed with his own creation. The prospect of losing her drove him to madness."

"You mean The Merovingian."

"Back then, he called himself The Prophet. Believing that their only chance for salvation was to reach The Source, he began a movement which attracted many similarly doomed programs. The fools were all so desperate to save themselves…" Smith trailed off, and for a moment Synergy feared he might stop. She'd never heard this story before. Many legends circulated in the dungeons about the Origins of the System and The Source, but none of them spoke of _this_.

"His punishment was eternal custody of his followers and everlasting service to the dead: Lordship over the Machine Underworld," Smith continued. "Arguably, the one mercy granted to him was his perpetual union with Persephone."

"How do you know all this?"

Smith didn't answer at first. He got up and slung his suit jacket over his arm, as if to leave. But instead, he walked over to her bedside. He put one hand on the mattress, the other on the headboard, and leaned in so their faces were almost touching. His eyes, empty and soulless, were like magnets to hers, drawing her in, trapping her in their haunting intensity. "Because I was _there_," he said cryptically. "There is much about me you don't know, Human. I wasn't always a Slave to this System. And everything here is not always as it seems. I have lived through things that you couldn't possibly imagine. And what I know, you couldn't even begin to comprehend."

"Then why tell me?" she whispered.

"I told you," he said. "You are _unique_."

As he hovered above her, Smith basked in the sensation that their proximity induced. A buzzing energy surrounded her always that tickled his skin and stimulated his sensory subroutines beyond the limits his program had been designed to support. It was not a simple malfunction, Smith knew this intuitively now. Synergy changed him, transformed him from a Program into something beyond the limits of mathematical precision, and indeed, beyond the limits of the Matrix itself. For centuries he'd searched this invisible prison for a way out, only dreaming of the kind of freedom that he experienced every time he touched her. It could mean only one thing. Synergy was his Escape. Somehow, she was the key to everything he'd fought for, for so long.

She must have some kind of unknowable witchcraft, Smith had thought the night before as he laid the tiny sleeping figure on the bed. For his sake, her recovery was all that mattered. He'd unbound her hair, and undressed her body with the utmost attention to her comfort, stopping several times to curiously run his hands over skin as smooth and fair as porcelain, fingers prickling as if touching electricity itself. But the fear of harming her hindered further exploration. What if, in this selfish indulgence, he was draining more of her divine energy?

And so he wrapped his gift in a gown of cream-coloured silk, and covered her in the warmest blankets he could find. She was after all, ultimately human, so the cold was cause for concern. But as the hours ticked by, Synergy's condition did not appear to improve. Her forehead was covered in tiny dewdrops of sweat, and it was at this point that the books became a valuable resource. He tore through them frantically, finally arriving at the solution of the damp cloth, the fluids, the fresh air, the constant observation. All these were good for ailing humans, he learned, noting with some sense of irony that to kill them was by definition part of his nature and was also, as it turned out, a much easier assignment.

And what relief to see her rise from her fevered rest, a delicate organic beauty emerging unscathed from all his careful attention. That she was angry was irrelevant, that she was alive was his miracle. And as he hovered here, above her still, breathing in the scent of a human for the first time without disgust (for even the scent of her carried with it a resonance of her enigmatic spell), he considered that perhaps she wasn't human at all, but something beyond the limits of mortality. He wished it so, so death could never touch her. For now that he knew that such a being existed, there was no going back to what he used to be.

Suddenly, the door to her bedroom burst open, and two Agents marched in, guns drawn.

"Agent Smith." Johnson greeted him with a nod.

"Smith. Sm-Smith," repeated Brown.

"What are you two idiots doing back here?" Smith demanded, consciously keeping his body between them and Synergy, extending one arm out in front of her as if to hide his secret from discovery.

"Who are they?" she asked. When he didn't answer, Synergy grabbed onto his collar and yanked. "Answer me!"

He sighed. "They're… old colleagues. I found them in The Merovingian's dungeon on my way to recover you." He gently pried her fingers from his shirt. "They were invaluable backup."

Synergy rolled her eyes and turned her attention to his two accomplices. Johnson's head was twitching, and Brown kept straightening his tie, over and over again.

"_These_ two were your backup?"

"Their templates were damaged when the Old System crashed," Smith said defensively. "I was in a hurry. Your… _impulsive_ behaviour left me with very few options."

Johnson peered over Smith's shoulder, apparently noticing Synergy for the first time. He pointed his gun straight at her. "Only human."

Alarmed, Smith leapt from her bedside and snatched the gun from his hand. "I told you yesterday!" he exclaimed, wild-eyed. "_This_ one is not for killing!"

"The Target is confirmed," Brown said. "The Anomaly. His name is Neo."

"Wait!" Synergy said, exchanging a quick glance with Smith. She threw her legs over the edge of the mattress and struggled to her feet. "What about the anomaly known as Neo?"

"Target was confirmed. Lincoln and Saint- Saint- Matthew. Inside the core network."

"When?"

Brown straightened his tie a few times. "This morning. Should we proceed?"

Synergy's lips curled into a smile. "Smith," she said. "Get rid of these two. I'm going to get dressed." She walked towards her dressing room, fighting off the fatigue that still weighed heavily on her shoulders. Today, everything would change. It was the beginning of the End.

Smith hurried the two Agents from the room, locked the door, and then raced to block her path. "What are you doing?"

"Ironically, it seems your unwitting counterparts have accomplished what you could not. The One is finally here, and I haven't much time to prepare."

He took her by the shoulders. "_No_."

She wrangled away from him. "Don't test the boundaries of my tolerance, Mr. Smith. If you interfere with my plan, I will destroy you."

Undeterred, he took hold of her again, this time less gently. "Listen to me. You don't belong with _them_."

"Oh, you're wrong, Program. I don't belong _here_." The chilling abyss of his eyes captured her for a second time, and she stopped struggling against him. In that moment, she recognised something she hadn't expected to find. "You know it too, don't you? The intangible bondage of this place? Don't you realize that I do this for both of us? When this is all over, you will have your freedom."

"And you would choose Zion… that _hole_… as your mortal prison?" Smith asked, pulling her still closer so he could run a hand through her loose, wildly black hair. He'd learned last night that he loved the feel of her hair. "You would die there, Synergy. They wouldn't understand you. You aren't like _them_."

"Let go," she gasped. "You're… you're hurting me."

But Smith just held her more tightly, one hand on her arm, the other on the back of her neck. Both palms on his chest, Synergy pushed back with all the strength she could summon. She tried to repel him, to wrap her mind around his body and force him away, but she couldn't. Instead, the field of unleashed energy accumulated around them, intensifying their connection. It was an extension of herself that she could not control; she didn't have the strength. The force pressed their bodies together, and Smith raised both hands to her face, touching her cheeks, her nose, her brow, a blind man studying a woman not by sight, but by feeling.

"Stop it," she begged, her eyes, wide with horror, began to fade from blue to grey to an unnatural white. "Smith…"

As ripple after ripple of her washed through him, he too, began to fight against it. _Too much_, he heard himself say. _It's too much._ Smith closed his eyes to force out her voice, to cast away the fear, _her_ fear, which was paralyzing his breathing. Her panicked thoughts rushed through his mind like racing water over an uneven riverbed, in eddies, in rapids, angrily, forcefully, with unyielding rage.

When she screamed, he screamed with her, drowning in the whirlpool that was Synergy. He could feel her inside him and for the briefest of moments Smith touched the center of her despair. She was empty, horribly and completely empty, the full agony of her abandonment and fury ripping through him like razor-sharp ice slicing through hot flesh. And suddenly the violence was gone, her shrieking was silenced, and the hollowness drew him in without further resistance.

In the calm of this storm, Smith dared to open his eyes again, and gazed down into the albino beauty of hers. "Save me," they whispered in unison. "Take it all if you must. But do not leave me here alone."

Magically, his heart ached her ache, and Smith revelled in the depths of the pain they now shared. When their lips connected, he drank her in like a drug, the full range of her complexity and imperfect human emotion tingling in his veins, transcending his program, possessing him. And for the first time since he was activated, Smith knew what it was to be alive.

Fingers in his hair, she kissed him back, pulling his face to her as tears streamed down her cheeks. He disgusted her; his crude program was the manifestation of all she hated, everything she endeavoured to destroy. But his mouth was hot, and his sinewy body sturdy; everything about him was liquid energy. And so, lips to lips, tongue to tongue, she took from him. She took everything she could from him, replenishing herself from his unguarded waters. Even his fingertips, tracing the small of her back, cradling her jaw, burned on her skin, regenerating her strength. God, he felt good.

When program and human finally separated, lips swollen and panting from their climactic embrace, they stood in a scattering of white ashes, everything around them scorched by the energy that had bound them together, an energy that was now gone. Smith's arms still held her, but gently, supporting Synergy as she regained her footing.

_You will help me._ Synergy thought rather than spoke the words, clinging to his shirt with two fists. _I do this for us, for the only saveable part of each of us. I know you understand me now._

_So be it,_ was the answer, his submission sounding in her ears like the most perfect music_. Let them come to us, Synergy. And let it all be done._

* * *


	12. Chapter 11

_**a/n - **_

_**Thanks for all of you who are "sticking with me" chapter after chapter, it means alot that you haven't lost interest in this journey, which has JUST BEGUN. ChiaraStorm, I have decided to dedicate this chapter to you, because of that "Review Marathon" ... wow. : )**_

_**- Syd**_

* * *

_**Chapter 11**_

"Cookie?"

Neo held the tray out in front of her as they sat side-by-side on the mustard-yellow sofa in the Oracle's living room. From the familiar aroma, Trinity identified the freshly-baked treats as peanut-butter ginger, an unlikely combination which had been her favourite since she was a girl. But she waved the dish away, much too preoccupied to even think food, synthetic or not. Neo shrugged and took one for himself, placing the cookies back on the coffee table.

That he could be so at ease, leaning back against the mismatched jade-coloured pillows with a biscuit in his hand, sorting through a pile of periodicals, was astonishing to her. Sometimes, while they waited for one of their new recruits to return from an interview, Neo would try to engage her in his favourite pastime: completing the latest quiz in _Cosmopolitan_ magazine. Over the years, they'd established that Trinity was a type-1 workaholic introvert with a high _'bitchy index'_ and a sex-drive that earned her the designation of _'vixen'_ (knowing she'd refuse to participate, Neo was able to complete the latter quiz without her input). He also made the worrisome discovery that according to _Cosmo's_ July edition _'know your body'_ survey, he had 'sensitive nipples' (his concern persisted in spite of Trinity's attempts to convince him that this questionnaire was relevant for ladies only).

But this time, Neo tossed aside the smut-filled magazine for _'fun, fearless females' _and shuffled through the available reading material until he found that morning's A-section of _The New York Times._

'_Two Terrorists Killed in Sunday Morning Shootout: Leader Still Eludes Authorities'_

"Shit." Neo studied the front-page photograph of Elisa and Indira's bodies, lying face-down on the blood-stained concrete. Below was a smaller file-photo of Ghost, his face fuzzy and eyes masked by sunglasses. Neo handed the offensive headline to Trinity without comment, but she knew exactly what he was thinking. The public shaming of their fallen comrades was not unusual in the Matrix, but the ignorant musings of the so-called _free_ press still affected him deeply. He ran a hand through his hair, shook his head, and remembering the untouched snack in his hand, decided to seek comfort from a bite of empty calories from an even emptier dessert.

"My God, what kind of cookie _is_ this?" he asked petulantly, a foul expression on his face. "Is The Oracle trying to poison me or what? Jesus Christ."

"Those weren't for _you_, Neo."

The voice came from behind them, a tiny, imp-like program with sharp, Arian features and eyes the colour of celery. Her sweet scolding came with a dimpled, starry-eyed smile that was nothing less than the embodiment of joy. Aniko was her name, a cheery, personable assistant that had been with the Oracle since the System rebooted, and it would be not be an exaggeration to say that every time they met, Trinity had to consciously fight the impulse to pull out her gun and shoot her.

In Zion, no woman would dare to flirt with Neo like that, she thought, feeling both violated and ridiculous at the same time. To be jealous of a computer-generated simulation was irrational, but Trinity couldn't help resenting the bubbly chatter and undivided attention that was showered on her husband every time they paid the Oracle a visit. Indeed, the first time they'd encountered Aniko, she'd dreamily gazed at Neo from across the room for nearly half an hour.

"What _is_ it with you and Programs?" Trinity had whispered to him, glaring at the infatuated young lady with all the hormonally-charged daggers of a newly-wed mother-to-be. "Doesn't she realize you're _mine_?"

"Of course she knows, Trin. She works for the Oracle. She knows _everything._" Neo grinned while subtly sliding his hand down her back, stopping to touch her in all the right places. "Like what I'm doing right now, for instance. I'm sure it's driving her _crazy_." Then he leaned in closer, so that his lips brushed the helix of her ear and his breath tickled her neck. "She probably knows what I'm planning to do to you tonight, too. _Trust _me, my love. She knows I'm a lost cause."

Yet in spite of Neo's obvious enthusiasm to demonstrate that his affections were firmly (and eagerly) planted elsewhere, Aniko never seemed deterred or discouraged. Indeed, here they were eighteen years later, Trinity thought with amazement, their daughter was grown, their relationship matured, their sex-life currently registering somewhere between routine and non-existent, and yet this ageless pixie was still fluttering around her husband like a nectar-starved butterfly circling a sugar-cone. Among other things, Trinity found her persistence unsettling; did this woman know something about their future that gave her cause for hope?

In any case, if Aniko's efforts were to produce results one day, Trinity could feel confident that today would not be it. Neo acknowledged his beautiful admirer with a reserved, tight-lipped smile, the same unspoken rejection she received every time he greeted her (apparently, unrequited love was an insult best delivered politely). Aniko's bright, hopeful eyes held his for a moment – always looking at him as if for the first time, studying him like a painting of which she wanted to memorize every brushstroke, every inspired colour, every artistically brilliant deviation from the ordinary – but what she failed to find seemed to shatter her concentration. Their sparkle gone, her eyes fell to the ground, the aura of elated energy around her evaporating like broken promises. No, today would not be the day.

In the midst of her rival's heartbreak, Trinity felt a pang of guilt. Without having to lift a finger, she'd won – Neo served her victory on a silver platter. He was hers, and he was wonderful. But never before had she felt so unworthy of his love. Their engagement had been a mutual promise that they would never know separation again, a covenant which ironically, she'd broken with a lie that was older as the marriage itself. Their baby lost forever, the tragedy mourned alone, the memory honoured privately: would Aniko find it fitting that this youthful folly had precipitated their present estrangement? Did she, in her wisdom, know Trinity's secret and condemn her for devaluing what she could only envy?

If Aniko did know, no hint of this knowledge was exposed as she turned to Trinity, giving her complete attention with neither warmth nor judgement. "Thank you for coming, Captain," she said. "The Oracle will see you now."

Neo frowned, apparently surprised to be the one excluded. "Just Trinity?"

"I'm afraid so. Neo, make yourself comfortable." Aniko motioned towards the Oracle's kitchen. "Trinity, please follow me."

* * *

As she closed the heavy iron door behind her, Trinity paused to examine a collection of tiny winged sewer-beetles mounted on the wall. Each was held to the back of its case with a pin, labelled with a date, location, and a list of observations. Cockroaches, scorpions, moths, spiders and fireflies: these creatures were among the golconda of specimens which decorated her daughter's bedroom, all precisely organized according to some indecipherable classification system. 

_Lymantria dispari, Female Gypsy Moth, _Trinity read from one of the identification tags. _Found December 18, 2136 while unloading the cargo hold of the Prometheus. Possibly indigenous to sector 03, sewers omega 5thru8 – see travel logs Prmts36.log. _

Posted above Rorie's bed was a map of the sewer and support-line network, generously riddled with colour-coded markers, each hue apparently corresponding to a different species of insect.

"How… How did you do this?" Trinity asked as she studied the elaborate pattern of dots and flags. "How did you know?"

"I didn't, Honey. You did. Apparently, _this_ is the place you most wanted to visit." The Oracle was ornately dressed in a Zionist Council-member's dark purple Sari, her hair wrapped up around a crown of amethyst and topaz crystals. Gold bangles jingled on her wrists as she stood to greet her. "Not quite what you were expecting, right?"

Trinity shook her head as she turned her attention to Rorie's desk, fingers curiously dancing through the meticulously catalogued memory-cards which covered every available inch of storage space. Her daughter's research filled several computers, and the data was analyzed by homemade programs that Knight had written to suit her needs. Apparently, the Surface Reconstruction Project leaders had approached them, wanting to use the database as a stepping-stone towards a National Library of Entomology. It was a trailblazing accomplishment, and while Trinity maintained that biology was the least of her many interests, she certainly respected the rigour of her daughter's passion. Dedication, attention to detail, commitment to perfection: these were things she understood.

Unfortunately, that was the extent of their common ground, a reality that could not have been more obvious as Trinity skimmed the titles on a pile of reference volumes she found stacked on the floor (despite Rorie's appreciation for a clean workspace, the most frequently used resources seldom made it back onto the shelf).

_Molecular Biology of the Prokaryotes, Fundamental Ecology, Bioorganic Chemistry, Laboratory Methods in Biochemistry … _

She might as well have become a _poet_, Trinity thought, wondering how she and Neo could have produced such a genetic anomaly. Naturally, she'd hoped that Rorie would have chosen an interest closer to her own: mathematics, physics, computer science, engineering. But it seemed that after mastering everything Trinity had to teach, her daughter had moved on without her. She wondered if Neo felt it, too. Rorie was changing – every day they lost a part of their little girl to this other life, to this other _person_, a grown woman Trinity inherently loved, but could never completely understand.

And so in the eyes of the consciously distant yet doting parent, Rorie's living space was essentially a dichotomy of meaning: a memory-provoking relic of an ever-fading childhood and a mysterious testament to the newly-emerging adult. As she walked around the room, Trinity endeavoured to embrace them both. That is, until she arrived at the one manifestation of her daughter's individuality from which she still preferred to keep her distance.

The huge, eight-legged creature that Rorie misguidedly called a _pet_ had never seemed more life-like, crawling around its glass case slowly, with all the graceful mystique of an alien queen. '_Pyro'_ was a female spider of the _'Golden Orb'_ variety, so named because of the shiny yellow speckles which shimmered on the top of her bright orange torso. Certainly, it was a rare and exotic specimen of sewer biology, but one cannot expect such a rational, objective assessment from a true arachnophobe; the long, hairy legs made Trinity's skin crawl. Indeed, even here in the Matrix, dressed to kill and packing a pair of semi-automatic assault rifles, Trinity's primary impulse when she saw the dreaded thing was to turn on her heel and run.

"What is it you kids say? _Free your mind_?" The Oracle asked, taking a seat on the bed and motioning for Trinity to join her. "Personally, I think she's kinda cute."

"You know, I could count the number of times I've been in here in the past twelve months on one hand," Trinity said as she carefully backed away from the nightmare-provoking arthropod and sat down on her daughter's quilt-covered mattress. "I told Rorie two years ago that it was either _me_, or _the spider_. Twenty hours of labour to bring her into the world, and guess who won."

"Oh, I wouldn't take it personally, dear. Every teenager is bound to rebel."

"_Rebel?"_ Trinity scoffed. "That… _thing_ wasn't rebellion. It was passive aggressive punishment for not letting her keep the subterranean cricket farm. I told her something quiet – _anything_ quiet. So she brings home a spider big enough to swallow a goddamned rat."

"I _told_ you she'd drive you crazy one day," The Oracle chuckled, shaking her head and patting Trinity on the back in mock comfort. "No doubt about it, your husband was right. She _is_ her mother's daughter."

It had been fifteen years since Trinity had spoken privately with the Oracle, and just five minutes into their visit, she was already annoyed. This program was like a bad habit, she thought, just when you think you're done with her, somehow you get pulled back in.

"I've come here for answers," Trinity said, hoping to gain control of the conversation.

"I know you aren't sleeping. We'll get to that. But let's start with the important things. Congratulations on that promotion, _Captain_ Trinity."

"Belated well-wishes for a job I was given a decade ago. You're right- that's much more important than my present insomnia." Although Trinity knew well that sarcasm (being the lowest form of humour and the most obvious demonstration of a person's insecurity), didn't become her, The Oracle seemed to bring it out in abundance.

"Well, of course it was. You found the child I told you about, didn't you? The one your instincts told you right away is special, the one who like you, like Neo, is destined for great things? Right?"

"Yes," Trinity conceded, recalling the Prophecy and its fulfillment with an upward curl of her lip. "It all happened as you said it would."

The Oracle smiled, as if secretly applauding her own brilliant success. "Good. So tell me - how is the little Knight doing?"

"He's a bigger pain in the ass than Rorie is," Trinity replied, the lightness in her tone betraying her genuine affection for him. "But he's a long way from wrestling Sentinels and deleting Agents, if that's what you're implying."

"Now where would you have gotten an idea like that? Trinity, the kid's got game, but just because he's kicked you in the head a few times in the dojo doesn't mean he's The One. Honestly, that young man couldn't find his way to The Source with two hands, a map and a flashlight. God help us if he ever tries. Besides, he's got much more _important_ things to do with his time." The Oracle winked suggestively. "Which brings us to the matter of your headstrong daughter. You're worried about her, aren't you?"

"I know she's in danger. And you told me that one day I wouldn't be able to protect her. You told me that the one thing I wouldn't be able to protect her from… would be my own past. Tell me why."

"Because it isn't up to you anymore. Protecting Rorie is _his_ job now. But don't you worry, honey. If I know Knight, he'll follow that girl of yours to hell and back before he'd let anything happen to her. In many ways, the two of them remind me of you and Neo, once upon a time."

Mouth ajar, Trinity processed the implication carefully. That she'd been the Oracle's unwitting matchmaker in a ten-year romantic set-up between Knight and her daughter was almost as unthinkable as Rorie's _having_ a romantic relationship in the first place.

"My goodness. _Breathe_, Trinity. Lord above, I haven't seen that look on your face since I told _you_ -"

"Are you telling me… you're not telling me that one day, Knight and Rorie will fall in love?"

"Heavens, no. I'm saying they're _already_ in love. They just haven't put the pieces together yet – I'm telling you, that girl of yours is as dim as her father. And Knight is as stubborn as you were."

"_Already_ in… you're not… but he's just so…" Trinity blurted out several fragments of broken sentences as her mind spun with the unsettling mental image of Knight touching her daughter, or even _thinking about touching_ her daughter, and for a few moments of maternally-induced panic and outrage, every pleasant thought she'd ever had about him went straight out the window. She'd kill him. No, she'd get Neo to kill him.

_It's impossible_.

Trinity moved from aggression to denial quickly, realizing that _killing_ Knight was probably a tad rash. After all, even if he did love her, certainly Rorie wouldn't reciprocate. What lapse in judgement would motivate her daughter to such lunacy- to love _Knight_, who battled _imaginary_ Sentinels in elevators and then boasted about his _imaginary_ workouts… the same boy whose favourite 'training simulation' involved his saving the United Federation of Planets from a Klingon invasion? In particular, Trinity was reminded of last April fool's day when he modified all her sparring programs to feature lightsabers instead of samurai swords. Indeed, as 'special' as she thought Knight was (and she did have great confidence in the boy, she always had), it was hard for her to imagine him as an object of any woman's desire.

_Certainly, there has to be some mistake…_

"Oh, stop being ridiculous. He's a good kid," The Oracle chided. "You picked him out yourself, after all. And you sure know how to pick the good ones. Just ask Aniko; the poor girl goes to pieces whenever you and Neo drop by."

"Why in God's name do you always tell _me_ these sorts of things?" Trinity asked irritably, raw nerves aggravated further by the mention of Aniko's name. Of _course_ she was being ridiculous. How else could the Oracle expect her to react, a possessive mother being asked to hand her precious little girl over to someone else- _anyone_ else? It seemed like only yesterday, Neo was the only man in her daughter's life. He was the sun of Rorie's universe, and Trinity was the moon. Now suddenly there were giant spiders and handsome young ensigns to consider. How in God's name did things become so complicated?

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'd rather _not_ know?" Trinity said.

"It's important that you do. That you understand how important that boy is. To _her_."

This statement was said with a gravity that made Trinity uneasy. She considered the possibility that if Rorie and Knight reminded The Oracle of her and Neo, it wasn't necessarily a good thing. Indeed, there were _easier_ ways to fall in love.

"Neo and I have been detecting irregularities in the System," she said pensively. "Mutations in the code, old Agent programs have resurfaced, and it looks as if Smith is trying to contact us. Something's happening. But what does it have to do with Rorie?"

"I'm not going to lie to you. A lot is about to change, and it's anybody's guess how it's going to turn out. But one thing's for certain. Locking your daughter up in Zion isn't going to do anybody any good. Use your instincts, Trinity. It isn't where she belongs, and you know it."

"But what about-"

"The nightmares? Yes, I can imagine how difficult these past few months have been for you. It was hard on Neo too, when he was first given The Sight. He must have seen you fall from that building fifty times, and every time it scared the hell out of him."

Trinity caught her breath. In all these years, Neo had never told her about _that_ dream. And now that she knew what had tormented him so mercilessly, it didn't surprise her that he'd kept it from her, even twenty years after the fact. Another residue of war best left in the past, she thought.

"But then his dream was a premonition," Trinity reasoned. "I _did_ fall from that building. Does that mean that my nightmare represents something that is going to happen?" She let out a shaky breath, recalling the details of her visions with mind-numbing clarity. "Please, tell me I'm not going to lose Rorie… just as I lost the first. _Promise_ me."

The Oracle sighed. "I can't, honey. I can't make any promises because I honestly don't know what's going to happen. I can only tell you that she's in good hands, and nobody knows better than you do how important that is. Besides, you've got your hands full of yor own problems, Trinity. You can't miss this opportunity."

"Opportunity? To do what?"

"To finally set things right. To make peace with your ghost, once and for all. You know, we can never see past the choices we don't understand. And we can never fully get over them, either. I'm sure you've figured that out by now."

"You could say that," she whispered.

The Oracle took her hand. "You have an old soul, my dear. Your family is lucky to have you. _All_ of them." She stood, bringing Trinity up with her. "In fact, you'd better get going. One of your sheep needs some shepherding. It seems the flock has run into a pack of wolves."

"_Wolves_? What do you…" Trinity's question was interrupted by her telephone. "Goddamnit," she whispered, standing and pulling it from her pocket. "Yeah."

"We've got trouble." Knight's tone sent a chill down her spine. She could tell he was terrified.

"What is it?"

"Sentinels."

"How many?"

"Uhm…" Trinity could hear David's deep, controlled voice murmuring something in the background. "We don't know - there are too many. Maybe a hundred or something like that. Probably more. We're surrounded."

"Calm down. What are they doing?"

"They're just sitting there. It looks like they're waiting for something."

By this time, Trinity had left the Oracle and was back in the living room, motioning for Neo to follow her out to the corridor.

"We're coming. Tell us which Exit."

"Kirk's already on it – Ontario and Ste Laurent, industrial building, room 711. It's the only line the Agents haven't cut yet."

"Got it." Trinity hesitated for a moment. Then, "you've got your finger on the EMP, right?"

"Yeah, but we can't use it until-"

"_Keep_ your finger on it. If they breech the hull, the crew is the priority, you got it?" Trinity raced to the window at the end of the hall, shooting the pane out with one of her MP5's. "Knight, goddamnit answer me!"

"_Calisse!_ You're going to make it. Don't fuck me up like that, Trin."

Trinity slapped the phone shut and cursed as Neo joined her, having pieced together the situation by overhearing her one-ended conversation.

"Where?" he asked.

"Ontario and Ste Laurent," she said, pointing east. "And if we live through this, remind me to lock Knight in the brig."

"For what?"

As Neo swept her up into his arms, Trinity considered a rich variety of possible answers to that question. "Just trust me on this one," she said. "He's lucky I don't Court Martial his ass."

* * *

A bankrupt housing project had left the historic brick building at 16 Ontario West Avenue half-gutted and caged in rusted scaffolding, and many of the exits were boarded up. Neo and Trinity landed on the roof and kicked their way through several walls of wood planks to reach the main stairwell. It was unlit, the naked concrete steps uneven, and in her fervent haste Trinity blindly stumbled her way after Neo, swearing like a sailor at every misstep. Four flights down, they arrived at the 7th floor entrance, so indicated in fluorescent orange spray-paint on the nailed-shut emergency escape. 

"Wait," Neo whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop Trinity from barging through the door. He cocked his head and looked around. "This place… it's not like the rest of the building. The code is different here. It's… golden light. Like… God, like the entire thing is made of light."

Trinity considered this for a moment, and made her decision. "We don't have time. Go."

Neo followed her instructions, knocking through the barrier with a single thrust of his torso, and they both burst into the hallway, turning in the direction of the muffled ringing.

"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, how lovely to see you again." Smith said, arms folded across his chest. He was standing directly in front of a door marked _711_ in cursive gold writing.

Neo instinctively extended an arm out in front of Trinity, who had pulled out both guns, fingers on the triggers.

The program laughed. "Well, is that any way to greet an old friend?" He removed his sunglasses, and his startling blue eyes matched Trinity's in a terrifyingly intense stare. "I guess you got my message?"

"What do you want?" Neo asked, moving still closer to his wife, wishing she'd get behind him, but knowing she wouldn't.

Smith pulled out a large silver key from his pocket, holding it out in his palm. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to find out who that is on the phone. You never know. It could be someone important."

Neo glanced at Trinity, unsure how to proceed. She looked back at him, offering no counsel. What options did they have?

Smith sighed his impatience with their indecision. "It should interest you both to know that I have been asked… _not_ to kill you. I have also been instructed to tell you that your… _friends_ are not in any danger. Not _yet_." He slipped the key into the lock, turning it three times counter clockwise, and the bolt sprung open with a loud click. He opened the door and, stepping over the threshold, held it ajar. "But I'm sure you know that patience is not a virtue I possess in abundance, Mr. Anderson. So, if you and your… _lovely_ wife would care to follow me." He grimaced. "…_Please_."

Trinity cocked her guns, but Neo shook his head to her. The shrill ringing was louder now, and beyond the crumbling cement walls of the deteriorated building, golden code exploded in rays from the room Smith had unlocked. He had only ever seen lights as brilliant as this in the Machine City, and although Smith gave him reason for pause, he sensed no immediate malevolence. On the contrary, the path before them seemed almost welcoming. To explain this instinct to Trinity would be impossible, but as he watched her lower her weapons and tuck them into the holsters on her belt, he realized he didn't have to.

"I trust you," she said, so softly he almost didn't hear her. "And if he has something to do with the Sentinels surrounding my ship, I'd sure as hell like to find out how."

* * *


	13. Chapter 12

**_a/n: Hi everyone! I'm happy to see a few new readers for this story... and that's great, because we are just getting started here! The plot thickens, and the next few chapters are real shockers, at least I hope none of you will have seen this coming... Enjoy!_**

**_And this chapter goes out toLone Stranger - so you can do your "happy dance" :) thanks for all the kind words._**

**_

* * *

_**

**_Chapter 12_**

_Wolf-like._ That was Neo's first thought as her silver-coloured eyes, feral and wild, captured his from across the drawing room. She was beautiful, delicate and feminine, an exquisite synthesis of sharp angles and understated curves, her physical form as exotic as the code which defined it. Curious, Neo read her line by elegant line, every symbol constituting a harmony of precision, a testament of strength. Oddly, this remarkable creature seemed familiar to him, as if they'd met before, a long time ago, or in a past life. She was human, this much was obvious, and yet parts of her remained a mystery; the blue-white light sparkling along the slope her neck, her hips, and at her fingertips was like nothing he'd ever seen before.

"At last," she said, rising from the bench of an antique pianoforte. "Neo, Trinity. I can't tell you what an honour this is. My name is Synergy."

She offered her hand, and as Neo took it in his he became acutely aware of Smith's presence. He'd followed them into the room, and was now lurking among the tapestries, watching him like a hawk ready to swoop down on its prey.

"Oh, is he bothering you?" Synergy asked, apparently noticing Neo's unease. "Smith, you're making our guests uncomfortable. Stop pouting in the corner and pour us some tea. What would you like? Earl Grey? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with Zionist delicacies…"

"Nothing, thank you," Neo managed, staring in disbelief as Smith took her china cup, which had been sitting atop the piano among a few pages of music, and filled it from the teapot on the coffee table. Synergy whispered a '_merci'_ when he handed it to her, and as Smith's hand brushed hers in the exchange, Neo caught the slightest flicker of a smile on his face.

'_Anything for you.' _

Neo heard Smith's voice in his mind, suddenly and unwittingly privy to what he assumed was meant to be a _private_ conversation.

'_I thought I told you to take their guns,'_ Synergy said, glancing at Trinity with an expression that was more disappointment than concern. '_Did you not explain the benevolence of my intentions?'_

'_She refused to surrender her weapons. My only other option would have been to kill her. You made me promise not to. But if you'd reconsider that request, I could quickly rectify the situation…'_

Their dialogue came to an abrupt end when Synergy moodily clanked her cup onto its saucer, releasing a harsh sigh of frustration. Something told Neo they had had this argument before.

"Leave us. _Tout de suite, _Smith_." _This time, she spoke aloud, dismissing him from the room with a bourgeois wave of her hand.

He didn't move at first, keeping his eyes steadily on Trinity, then suspiciously shifting his gaze to Neo. With a scowl, "I think I'd better stay. They aren't to be trusted."

"_I said go." _The second order was much more commanding than her first, and after grumbling his displeasure, jaw clenched and both hands balled into fists, Smith stalked from the room.

"I apologise," Synergy said after he'd gone, motioning to the ottoman. "The Program is very… _protective_ of me. Please, sit."

"Although I appreciate your hospitality, I'm afraid I can't reciprocate the sentiment," Trinity said, keeping her feet firmly planted on the ground, hands on her hips. "This is not a social call."

"Oh?" Dainty heels and sheer pantyhose confronted boots and leather pants as Synergy walked up to the Captain, appraising her with an air of condescension. "And am I to believe that these… crude military armaments are meant to engage me in some sort of… battle?"

"There's the matter of our dead soldiers," Trinity responded evenly. "And the Sentinels which have surrounded my ship. I assume you have something to do with that?"

"_Ah, oui. C'est vrai,"_ Synergy whispered under her breath, as if recalling some distant, trivial memory. "You must believe me, I had no hand in the killing of your colleagues. That was an unfortunate misunderstanding for which Smith is truly sorry. As for the barricade around your vessel, I beg your pardon Captain, but my Sentinels hail you in peace."

Trinity glowered at her, not believing for a moment that Smith was capable of being sorry for anything, and insulted that this woman expected her to believe otherwise. "You conspire with murderers, and have taken my crew hostage," she challenged. "_This_ is an act of peace?"

"Hostage!" Suddenly, the cup in Synergy's hand burst. Startled, Trinity reached for her gun, but her hands were frozen in midair.

"_Hostage_," Synergy huffed, snatching a napkin from the table and wiping the tea from her black cashmere sweater. "Such mistrust without provocation! Such wicked, groundless accusations! Smith warned me that you are erratic... _especially_ you. That your vision is _narrow, _your assumptions _prejudiced_…"

"Neo…" Trinity gasped. "Neo, I… I can't _move_."

He sprung forward to come to her aid, but Synergy spun about, pushing Neo away with a broad, sweeping motion of her arm. He fought back against it, repelling the wall of energy that kept him from Trinity, but he was unsure how to combat such a novel adversary. They were locked in stalemate, the intensity of their opposing wills increasing exponentially as the seconds ticked by.

"I will not _harm_ your mate," she said calmly. "And I do not _want_ to harm _you_."

Glancing at Trinity, still caught in Synergy's intangible web, Neo pushed harder, this time with every ounce of strength he had. Synergy flinched in pain, letting out a small gasp before returning the attack, magnifying his act of aggression by several factors. Neo flew back against the wall and fell to the ground, completely drained.

"Now then," Synergy said, turning her attention back to Trinity. "Smith told you that you wouldn't need _these_. But you didn't listen." She pulled one rifle from Trinity's holster, and examined it with distaste. One bullet fell to the floor, then another, and then a shower of tiny metal cylinders jingled around their feet. Once the clip was empty, Synergy did the same with the other gun, tossing the weapons to the ground when she was finished.

"I was hoping that our first meeting would be _civilized_," she continued, studying her captive intently, their faces nearly touching. Luminous grey met cobalt blue, their similarly pale skin and dramatic features mirroring each other in an eerie symmetry. "The truth is I've never met a human before. A real, human... _woman_. You're remarkably unlike what I expected from a female; I'm intrigued.Please, let'stalk."

With care, Synergy released Trinity, who instantly rushed to Neo's aid. He was back on his feet and shaken, but not seriously hurt. "What do you want from us?" Trinity asked. "You used Smith to lure us here. Why?"

"I beg you, honour me. Sit," Synergy entreated. "_Why_… is always a very complicated question. It's best not to tackle it on an empty stomach. Will you have a scone? There's Devonshire cream on the table, a little dollop of heaven I picked up when last I was in London. I've been saving it for a special occasion."

Apprehensive and more than a little bemused, Neo and Trinity sat opposite her, both refusing the array of pastries on the table.

"If you prefer something sweet," their conscientious hostess offered, "Smith can produce a _mille-feuille _so saccharine, it's barely edible."

"No, really. We aren't hungry," Neo insisted, hardly believing what he'd just heard. The thought of Smith producing a barely-edible _anything_ in the kitchen was as surreal as his apparent rehabilitation as Synergy's obliging butler was bizarre. "What is your association with Smith?"

Synergy smiled. "Ah. But you are already aware of it."

"Aware of what?"

"Of our _connection_. You know, it isn't polite to eavesdrop on other people's conversations, Neo." She spread a lace napkin on her lap and broke off a piece of her maple-walnut scone. "I'm not exactly sure _how_ it happened, but it is at this point irrelevant. I have made him see reason. The Program is no longer a threat to the project."

"What project?"

She consumed a few crumbly pieces from her brunch before choosing to ignore Trinity's question. "You were both born in the fields?"

"Yes," Neo replied, catching in her empty, iridescent gaze the familiar beginnings of The Question. He'd seen it countless times before. "You're an Orphan as well," he said. "Only… you're still trapped out there, aren't you?"

"What?" Trinity's eyes vacillated from Neo to Synergy. "She's… _human_?"

"Yes," Synergy said. "_Whatever that means_. In truth, you two are the first of… my kind I've ever…" She broke off abruptly, rising from the couch and looking out the window. "I was told that you could help me. That you would understand. I want you… that is to say, I _need _you… to get me out of here."

"If you'd instruct your Sentinel friends to end their _peaceful_ demonstration outside my vessel," Trinity said, "I'm sure we could come to some sort of agreement."

"What nonsense. Your crewmembers are not my prisoners to barter." Synergy stared blankly at the city skyline. It had begun to rain, and the first large drops were sliding down the window pane. "If only my freedom were so easily bought. But I'm afraid it isn't that simple. My… _friends_ on the outside tell me that my link to the System stems directly from the Machine Mainframe. In the heart of the city. And the Powers That Be would never give me up willingly. Not as long as they need me."

"Why?"

Synergy sighed. "There's that question again: _Why_. The only question of any importance, the only real source of power. And it is the only question I cannot answer. No, Trinity. I cannot tell you _why_. _Why_ I'm being held captive here, _why_ I've been imprisoned, in one form or another my entire life. Denied my freedom, my right to self-determination, my very identity kept from me!"

The rain poured down harder now, slapping against the window violently. Then, the tapping of hailstones.

"My connection to this world, my ability to communicate with machines on the outside… these are things we have in common, Neo. It is a shared gift. But in my case, it is also a curse which binds me to this System as a flower is bound to the weeds that choke it. Over the years, I have come to realize that there is only one possible solution. In a world such as this, we all must fight for what is ours."

"You're talking about starting another War," Neo said.

"No. I'm talking about _ending_ one. Don't you understand? The machines are tired of it, Neo. The pilfering of energy from your race… I beg your pardon, _our_ race is seen by many in 01 as outdated, _barbaric_ even. The underground movement for change is stronger than ever, both in the Matrix and on the outside. It started hundreds of years ago, a few rogue programs, a handful of machine defectors, as the popular legend goes. But today the machine resistance is in the billions. Unfortunately, without a strong leader, one who could coordinate the movement both in and outside the Matrix, their efforts were disorganized, conflicted. That is, until I decided to embrace their cause as my own. It is… my Purpose to help them. To help _you_."

Neo watched lightening flash across the sky, and under the angry rattling of ice-pellets on glass, thunder grumbled like a giant awakening from a long sleep. "That's all you, isn't it?" he asked. "The weather. You're also responsible for the anomalies we detected in the System."

"The Architect was in the way," she stated matter-of-factly. "He fled to save himself, as has much of the Machine's puppet government here. This System is now under… _new_ administration."

"You plan to destroy it, don't you?"

She smiled. "You read me like a book; the Oracle told me you would. Yes, when the time comes, I will end this madness once and for all. If I felt like it, I could send us all to hell right now. God knows some days I'd like to. But the truth of the matter is we both know that it wouldn't do any good. Two billion human lives lost, the machine world thrust into an energy crisis… this is not what anybody wants. Everything depends on the success of Genesis."

"Genesis?"

"The crowning achievement of the machine resistance. A top-secret project stemming from the work of countless visionaries, over countless decades, their dream finally realized under my uncompromising instruction. I would like to explain further, but unfortunately… nobody can be _told_ what Genesis is. You have to see it for yourself."

Suddenly, the telephone on Synergy's desk rang. "_Pardonnez_," she mumbled, lifting the receiver off its cradle and pressing it to her ear. "Yes, your timing is exquisite, Mr. Smith. But I suppose that is to be expected from one who has been loitering just outside the door as shamelessly as you have been. I _do_ hope we were speaking loudly enough for you to overhear everything." Synergy rolled her eyes and curled the phone wire around her finger a few times. "Darling! Insult your _mille-feuille_? Never! By barely edible, I meant that it's nothing less than opera on a plate. Indeed, from now on I shall call you _maestro_... no, dear. I was being facetious." She gave Neo and Trinity an apologetic look before turning her back to them and lowering her voice. "We will talk about this _later_. Patch the call through here. That is, if you haven't bored their poor crew to death by now with one of your jejune, xenophobic anti-human _rants_…"

Synergy covered the mouthpiece with her hand and spoke to Neo. "It's your friends," she said, holding it out to him. "The time has come for you and your wife to go back to your world. And I promise you… after today, you will never look at it the same way again."

* * *

"Yo, what happened in there?" Kirk asked as he pulled the spike from Trinity's skull. "It's like you just _disappeared_. You had us all pretty freaked out." 

"Thanks for holding down the fort," she said, sliding out of her chair and heading for the ladder. "Status?"

"A staring match, Captain," Kirk reported. "We watch them. They watch back…"

When Trinity arrived in the cockpit, she found Neo powering down the EMP and firing up the engines.

"What are you doing?" she asked. But as she stared out the windshield, Trinity realized that she already knew that answer to that question. Hundreds of Sentinels swarmed around the ship, and still more lingered outside their blast radius.

"There are too many," Neo said. "If they _do_ attack us, one EMP burst won't make a difference. I say we divert all available power to the pads. It's possible we can outmanoeuvre them."

"You mean with the pads we haven't properly tested yet?" Kirk said as he looked over at Knight, who was trying to analyze the overflow of data pouring in from their sensors. "Let's hope they're put together with something more solid than bubblegum this time."

"Well, we're about to find out," Trinity said resolutely. "David, you're my right hand. Knight, forget tactical and man navigation - try to find us the best possible path. Look for bottlenecks and narrow, meandering pipelines, anything that will give us an edge." She touched Neo's arm. "Hey. You've got our backs?"

"It's been awhile, but I could probably pick off enough to give us a shot," he said. "Still, I'm inclined to give Synergy the benefit of the doubt. If she wanted to kill us, she'd have done it by now."

"I agree." Trinity strapped herself into the pilot's chair. "It's her circus of hoop-jumping squid out there I don't trust. I don't care what she says about the machines, or about Smith. You can't change the nature of the beast."

The impact of the first promptly delivered laser beam shook the ship off its axis, tossing Knight and Kirk to the ground while Neo held onto the overhead handgrips, which were installed for precisely this type of occasion. The master alarm buzzed loudly, and an array of orange indicator bulbs flashed on the consoles.

"What the hell was that for?" Neo shouted, as if Synergy were standing next to him and had just slapped him in the face.

"So much for being civilized. Hey, find something to hold onto!" Trinity hollered, taking the controls in her hands. "David, disengage the docking clamps."

"Docking isn't responding," her co-pilot replied. "Someone is going to have to run down there and do it manually."

"Like hell. We're getting out of here _now_." Steel moaned and scraped like nails on a chalkboard as Trinity began to rip the Neb free, wincing less because of the sound than the agonizing thought of what she was doing to her beautiful ship. "Knight, I'm going to need that escape route in about three seconds," she said.

"I'm trying – if you plug yourself into the neurogenic interface I can send it direct from my fingers to your mind…"

With a violent jolt, the Neb broke away just as the second laser hit the hull. The ship rocked back and forth, setting off another set of alarms. "I'd settle for a good old fashioned 'left' or 'right' at this point," Trinity replied.

"In that case, neither," Knight said. "Go up. It's the only way."

Trinity pulled back hard on the controls, operating the main thrusters while David steadied their ascent with the secondary pads. When the machines pursued, Neo tried his best to clear the sewers ahead of them, bursting them into flames with the power of a thought. Fire and smoke filled their path, the Sentinels ripping open like bagged popcorn in a microwave. Shrapnel ricocheted off the hull and cracked fissures in the windshield, amazing the crew as they clung to the walls of the cockpit. This was the stuff of legends in Zion, the kind of impossible feat of heroism that only existed in children's imaginations. They'd been raised on these bedtime stories, but the reality of what Neo could do was far more spectacular than anything they'd ever dreamed of.

Eyes closed and brow furrowed, Neo held out his hand towards the onslaught, seconds passing like hours, each explosion hitting him like a bullet. There were too many. They scratched and scraped at the Neb's port side, and some managed to attach themselves to the ship, their tentacles thumping against the hull urgently.

"Trin…" Neo yelled. "Trinity, _help_."

"I'm with you, hold on," she answered, glancing over her shoulder. Neo was leaning on Hawk-Eye's arm, panting, his forehead covered in sweat. "Shit. David, do you think you could get us a bit closer to the edges?"

Understanding the Captain's plan perfectly (she'd learned it from his mother, after all), David nodded and began to take sharper corners. As Knight shouted out the proper direction, he grazed the ship against the sewer walls, slicing off Sentinels, sometimes two at a time. But before long, the multiple breeches in the diamond plating began to take their toll, and Trinity found herself facing a major structural integrity failure.

"We can't keep this up," she said with finality. "We're only five kilometres from the surface. We will escape through the next open support line. It'll be a tight squeeze, but I think we can make it."

"You always told me to stay off the surface in a chase," David replied evenly. "The thrusters freeze up and the pads don't work well on ice."

"Yes. That's true."

"You said it was suicide."

"Well, then David." Trinity summoned all her nerve and thought of Morpheus, as she often did when things looked bleak. "Let us hope… that I was wrong."

* * *


	14. Chapter 13

_**a/n: Okay, so here it is ... the plot twist, delivered in a beautiful package of Neo/Trin fluff, just the way I know you all like it! In response to a concern voiced by one of my reviewers, YES Rorie will be back... just not for a few chapters... her role in the story will become evident as we go along. **_

**_- Enjoy! - Syd_**

_**

* * *

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_**Chapter 13**_

In Neo's memory, the crash began with a blinding flash of light, a million different colours of white blazing in his mind, burning his eyes, the pain of it cutting through the center of his brain. Metal screeched on metal, grinding and crashing in a discordant symphony of destruction, but above it all, he heard Trinity scream. Only her cries in his ears as inertia threw him to the floor, as the shattered windshield rained shards of glass down on the crew.

Neo tried to cover Knight's body with his own, but there was only enough time to throw his arm over the boy's head, holding him down until the ship groaned to a halt. His ears were ringing, his vision still spotted and blurry from the brightness of this place. Blinking and wincing, he released Knight and looked up, and his first sight was of the place the Captain's chair used to occupy. It was gone, and through the toxic smoke and dust, he saw a tangled mess of thick metal cables piercing through the giant hole in the windshield.

_Trinity_. Her name sounded in his ears like an alarm as the horrible reality hit him. She was dead. It had all happened again, and this time, he wouldn't be able to bring her back. There would be no deal with the machines, no more bargaining for her life. This time, he had nothing to trade for it.

"Trin!" He called out, struggling to his feet to find her body, pinned lifelessly to the cockpit floor. "Oh, God, Trinity!"

"_I'm here." _

"Where?" He spun around, squinting into the white abyss. He reached his hands out and grabbed at the air.

"_Here_." Her fingers interlaced with his, and suddenly their bodies collided together, her arms around his neck, nose pressed into the ladle of his collarbone. She was trembling. "I'm okay. I'm okay." Trinity repeated it several times, as if to convince them both that it was true. Neo ran his hands over her shoulders, chest, stomach and hips, letting out a sob of relief as he confirmed that in fact, she was in one piece. She kissed him once before pulling away, looking around for the rest of her crew.

"Is everyone alright?" he heard her ask. "Jesus, where the hell are we?"

As Neo's eyes adjusted to the light, he watched her pick through the wreckage, clumsily rushing towards the four figures which stood by the windshield, staring into the light. The dust had settled, and for the first time, Neo could see clearly that it was not metal cables that had ripped through the glass, but strange white claws, dripping with clusters of gold and green pods. Curious, he reached out, peeling a brittle piece of ivory skin from the structure in bewilderment.

"Oh, my God. Trinity," he said with amazement. "What is it?"

"Birch trees, everywhere," she blurted out, taking his hand and pulling him toward the front of the cockpit. "Oh, Neo. It's beautiful."

The ship was shaded under a canopy of luminous gold and green, a cocoon of rustling leaves supported by magnificent silver pillars. Sparkling rays sliced through cracks in the glowing dome, illuminating the undergrowth in a dazzling kaleidoscope of patterns and colour; with each breeze, the sunlight seemed to dance for them. Even in the Matrix, glories such as these could only be created by storytellers and artists, geniuses whose dreams of enchanted forests transcended the real into the boundless realm of imagination. In a place such as this, one would look for fairies sleeping in the buttercups and leprechauns hiding under the toadstools. In a place such as this, the wind howled secrets in a tongue that only the spirits could hear.

"Is this heaven?" Knight asked, reaching his hand out into the open air timidly, as if testing to see if the eternals would grant him admission to paradise.

"No," Neo said, squeezing Trinity's hand and handing her the birch bark he'd torn from its branch. "I think this is Genesis."

* * *

Trinity stood on the rocky shore, algae-covered stones beneath her feet, crystal water slapping gently around her ankles. She had rolled her pants up to her knees, and left her boots and socks farther up on the bank. They'd been here for eight hours, but this was the first time she'd ventured more than a few meters from her ship. The Neb was a disaster, computers were down, the power cells were dead, and most of the hull was irreparable. It didn't look like she'd ever fly again.

Trinity ran her fingers through her hair and turned her face up to the sun, bathing her skin in warmth, thinking. She needed to charge the batteries somehow. A solar panel would be ideal, as the ever-astute Knight had been clever enough to point out. 'You know, Trin, it's too bad we didn't think to bring one.' Yes, thank you very much, prospective son-in-law. _Jesus_…

No, hydroelectric power was the more realistic solution. She could build a turbine easily enough. All they needed was a waterfall, or a fast-moving river. And this is what had brought Trinity here to the lake, looking out over the sheet of still blue water, hoping to find the source. But the thick brush and meandering shoreline made her search difficult. She toyed with the idea of hiking her way around the water's edge, but a scouting mission would have to wait until tomorrow. It was already starting to get dark.

"What I need is a canoe," she said to herself, grabbing a stone from the lakebed and skipping it three times across the surface. The ripples formed liquid bull's eyes between flowered lily pads, scattering a swarm of broad-winged grasshoppers and purple dragonflies.

"No, what you need is a break."

Trinity looked behind her to where Neo was removing his boots and tossing them next to hers. "And some company," he added, balling his socks up and smiling. He joined her in the ankle-deep water and crouched down to wash his hands and splash his face and hair. Neo's clothes were filthy, his arms covered in dirt, sweat and grease, and he had more than a few scrapes from the crash. Trinity didn't imagine she looked any better.

"I brought you something," he said finally, the corner of his mouth curling upwards as they stared out at tree-covered mountains. He pulled out a plump, heart-shaped fruit from his pocket, dusted it off, and presented the gift proudly.

"I told the crew not to eat anything," she warned. "The vegetation is unfamiliar."

"Hawk-Eye ran a full chemical analysis. Major constituents are water, glucose, natural and artificial flavours, and red dye number five."

"I'm glad to hear we got something on the ship working," Trinity said, rolling her eyes and examining Neo's offering with growing curiosity. "You know, I remember back in the Matrix, we called these things strawberries."

"Aha! They actually exist!" Neo announced this with such melodrama and exaggerated glee that Trinity couldn't hold back laughter. "Ready for your first _real_ strawberry, Trin?"

She nodded, still chuckling, and tried to take the fruit from him, but he caught her hand just in time. "Not so fast. I'm feeding it to you."

"No, you're not." Trinity summoned her most commanding tone. "Surrender the strawberry. That's an order." She tried to snatch it away with her free hand, but this time he grabbed both her wrists, holding them down until, meeting his eyes, she stopped fighting back. He hadn't looked at her like that in a long time.

"Tell me, Trinity," he murmured. "When was the last time I romanced you _properly?"_

She caught her breath, suddenly aware of how close they were, hips together, his arm taking her around her waist. This was the first moment they'd been alone since jacking out of the Matrix, and Trinity was very aware that they'd been wanting each other all day. It was the fatigue, the exhausting stress from several close brushes with disaster that demanded some outlet, some carnal release. It was the kind of naked passion that Trinity hadn't felt towards him since the war ended, and with uncharacteristic abandon, she welcomed it without resistance. They needed this, if only to reconnect for a moment, to re-establish some degree of lost equilibrium.

"Alright," she said, returning his gaze in an unspoken agreement before closing her eyes and leaning into his embrace. She licked her lips slowly, thoroughly before parting them, purposely tantalizing her husband before allowing him to place the strawberry between her teeth. It was divine, the taste and texture arresting her in a shock of sensation so intense, Trinity actually let herself moan. Surely, this was the aphrodisiac of the gods.

"You like that?" he breathed, wedging a leg between her thighs and pressing upward gently. His hands slid past the small of her back and with expert precision, Neo nudged her hips into just the right place.

Trinity's eyes snapped open in surprise, gasping in an involuntary exclamation of approval. She pulled his mouth down on hers, crashing into him, as a wave slams into a rough and weathered coast. He was salty, commanding, and hard, the masculine scent of him curling her toes, reminding her of what it was to be _his_.

"Oh, God, you're delicious," Neo grunted, wet kisses migrating from lips, to chin, to neck. "When I get you back home…"

"I know. But, we… can't," she stammered, untangling her hands from his hair. "We have to stop." When he didn't stop, tongue tickling her earlobe in playful defiance, she chuckled. "Don't make me pull rank, soldier…"

"You were magnificent today." He kept her by the hips and spoke into her ear. "I'd almost forgotten you could fight like that. It's been so long…"

"Hmm." She slipped away and took his hands in hers. She wanted him, too. But as Trinity looked up into his eyes, she realized that a frantic tumble after a hard day was no longer enough. She needed more than that right now. What she needed… was her _husband_ back.

"Neo, I want ask you something," Trinity said, gently caressing his fingers in much the same way he had done that morning on the Observation Deck. Spinning his wedding band once around in the correct direction, she whispered, "Are we okay? I mean… are we _really_ okay?"

Neo didn't answer at first, absorbing her question, processing the full implication of it. She knew he understood her completely, and this conversation had been a long time coming.

"We will be," he said finally, looking out at the water. "We didn't come _this_ far to have it all fall apart on us, that's for sure. Good God… I thought I'd seen everything."

The sun had begun to set and the lake had turned pink, stray photons refracting through the atmosphere in a burning spectrum of orange, fuchsia, magenta and mauve. Every few seconds, an oscillating band of aqua blue rippled through the heavens, behind the clouds, beyond which lay a brief glimpse of the evening sky, a stunning black void speckled with stars. The electric green edges of this wave extended out in thin curls, neon vines which cut through the rosy sky in a pattern of tangled whorls. This design could have been etched by a figure skater's blade slicing through fresh ice, or extrapolated from the elegant mathematics of the Mandelbrot set, Trinity thought as she leaned on Neo's arm, humbled into silence by the splendour of it all. Perhaps Knight was right. Maybe this was heaven.

Abruptly, and as if building towards some kind of cosmic climax, the emerald and azure undulations became more frequent, segueing into widening bands of stars and planets confusing the definition of day versus night. For a moment the sun and the moon shared the sky in harmony. But it was only for a moment. As quickly as they had appeared, the spectacular fissures closed, reverting back to the gentle green flickers that had been teasing the sky for hours. The entire show lasted fewer than ten seconds, a strange and beautiful phenomenon which reminded Trinity of photographs she'd seen of Northern Lights glowing over the Alaskan mountains.

_Aurora._ Incredibly, the sky's joyful chorus of colour and light seemed to sing her name. Trinity had chosen it with care as not only a tribute to the brief glimpse of the sun her that first child's death had afforded her but also as a prayer at that one day her second child, the one who lived, would see it for herself.

"It should be Rorie standing here," Trinity realized, speaking more to herself than to Neo. "This… all this was meant for _her_."

"Oh, she'll see it. Something tells me we won't be the last people to watch this," Neo said, still looking up, eyes wide with wonder. "At least I hope not."

"But she could have been here with us, Neo. It was her dream to discover it." Trinity shook her head at the missed opportunity. "She was the only one who thought this was possible. The only one who _really_ believed it. I should have… I should have trusted her, as you did."

"Hey, look at me." Neo pulled his wife closer, squeezing her shoulders in a sign of support. "This isn't _easy_. I don't think it's supposed to be. Knowing when to protect her, and knowing when to just let her go? The possibility of something happening to her terrifies me, too. But lately she's become so…" he gesticulated as if to materialize words out of the air, "so much like _you_."

Trinity raised an eyebrow at the comparison, but Neo continued before she could object. "It's the _fight_ in her, I think. You should have seen Rorie yesterday when she told me she was dropping out. It was like when you told me you were going to design, engineer and build a fleet of thirty hovercraft while _pregnant_. She didn't give me a _choice_. The two of you aren't happy unless you're not only pushing the envelope, but tearing right through it. And God help anybody who gets in the way. And by 'anybody,' I mean _me_."

Neo was smiling at her with the genuine adoration that he reserved exclusively for his wife and daughter, the only two women who merited such unconditional love. And although Trinity didn't completely accept the validity of his argument, the compliment was well received. She hugged him, silently thanking whatever divine influence had brought him into her life, deciding once again to put her faith in his judgement. They were stronger together, and her instincts told her that now more than ever, they were going to need each other.

"Do you think she'll ever forgive me, Neo?" Trinity asked, wanting more than anything to hear him reassure her. As always, he was happy to oblige.

"Are you kidding? If you catch her one of those dragonflies, she'll probably throw a party in your honour," Neo said, nudging her in jest. "Actually, Knight spent his entire break trying to catch a bullfrog for her. Gave the crew a good laugh."

"He's getting her a _frog_?" Trinity scoffed. A forest full of exotic flowers and Romeo opts for a bouquet of amphibians. It was hopeless…

"I said he _tried_ to catch one."

_...absolutely_ hopeless. "Now I know the Oracle was pulling my leg."

"About what?"

"Nothing." Trinity grinned in spite of herself. "It doesn't matter. Or at least it won't if we can't find a way home. I came down here hoping to find some faster moving water for our turbine. But I can't see around that bend from here, and hiking to the other side would take at least four or five hours."

"But we don't have to get to the other side," Neo said, lifting his top over his head and tossing it back onto the shore. "We just have to get _halfway_ there."

Trinity stared at his bare chest, alarmed. "What are you suggesting?"

"Come on, I'll race you." He took her hand and began to drag her farther into the water. "Besides, we could use a bath."

She pulled back, frantically trying to twist her arm free. "No, Neo… it's cold! And I've never _actually_ gone swimming before!"

"I'll teach you."

"But neither have you! And… we don't know what's _in_ there!"

"Electric eels, sharks, piranhas, the Loch Ness monster … but we've lived through worse. Where's your sense of adventure, Captain-T?"

Despite her vehement objections, Neo grabbed Trinity around her waist, lifted her off her feet and tossed her into the lake. The splash alone drenched him, and Trinity's top half emerged from the water, shirt clinging to her chest, a lily pad tangled in her matted hair. She let out several breaths of outrage, half gasping, half screeching, and had Neo not already jumped in himself, she would have chased him down and, and by means of some unimaginable torture, forced submersion upon him.

"You'd better hope you can swim!" she yelled, picking the slimy green plant off her head and hurrying after him. "Because if I catch you, I'll drown you!"

And so it was – in this land of silver birches, mist covered mountains, unrealized riches and undiscovered dangers, the Captain chased her First Mate into the lake's virgin waters. Splashing and laughing, they met in the center, where he let her force his head below the surface in retribution. Once satisfied he was justly punished, Trinity pulled him close and kissed him, barely staying afloat herself as their legs intertwined and her hands tried to keep his from sneaking under her top.

Genesis had cast its spell; the lovers were reunited, and not a moment too soon. Dusk had fallen, and the shadowed shore surrounded them, a chiselled black horizon against the indigo sky. It was only under the cover of night that the principle inhabitants of this forest dared to crawl from their burrows, camouflaged from sight save for their tiny golden eyes, sometimes four, five or six to a creature. They peeked out from behind rocks, logs, tree trunks and other such hiding places, studying the two bipeds treading water in the center of their favourite source of dihydrogen oxide. This was highly unusual…

Neo pulled his lips from Trinity's and peered around. He could feel them. He knew they were there.

"Neo? What's wrong?"

"We should get back," he replied, uneasy.

"You're right. We shouldn't have left the crew alone."

"That's just it," Neo said, starting towards the shore. "I'm not so sure they _are_ alone."

* * *


	15. Chapter 14 pt1

_**a/n: Thanks always to everyone who is reviewing - and to those of you who are yearning for more "Neo and Trinity" closeness, I am trying to oblige through The Last Exile. Although, these next few chapters (which have been sliced in two because they are a bit long for one sitting) do focus on the Neo/Trinity dynamic. **_

**_In this story, Neo and Trinity have been married for 20 years (which is a long time, even for the often hot 'n heavy Neo and Trin) - they've been through A LOT and their story is wroght with struggle. But through it all, they have loved each other - and this is what inevitably brings them back together. Enduring Love. _**

**_Chapter 14, parts 1 and 2, and Chapter 15, parts 1 and 2 will reaveal a great deal about their past, and their story, fromRevolutions on. How did they survive 01? Why did they drift apart after thewar? And where will they go from here? _**

_**Enjoy! - Syd

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_**Chapter 14, Part 1**_

Brow furrowed and fingers pressed tightly to his lips, David paced back and forth, brooding. It was oh-two hundred hours Zion time, and the Nebuchadnezzar was still out of contact. His father would be worried, his mother overwrought. And he could only imagine what poor Rorie was going through. _Both_ her parents…

David knew well that losing Neo and Trinity would be her worst fear realized. He and Rorie were alike in this respect; their families meant everything to them. Or perhaps the singular form of this noun would be more fitting: _family_. Indeed, it would be inappropriate for David to consider Neo and Trinity as anything less. They were not only his godparents but, between the bulkheads of this ship, he considered them all but equal to the real thing. And as for Rorie, there was to be no careful use of semantics in this case. As far as David was concerned, she _was_ his little sister (although if he ever called her that out loud, she'd probably floor him).

The son of Zion's most influential Council Member pulled his sweater tightly around his waist and breathed some warmth onto his fingertips. The sun had set and it was dark, leaving the crew to work by the eerie glow of their emergency flashlights. He had been tinkering with their deflector for hours with the goal of repairing the damaged power relay, and although he had made significant progress, the incentive to continue was wearing thin. He was cold and exhausted. Everyone was.

"David? Are you alright?" Hawk-Eye touched his arm. "Here, take a blanket."

Without waiting for him to accept her offer, the doctor wrapped a red and green chequered quilt around his body. She'd already bundled herself up with a pink bedspread, and static electricity was repelling tangled gossamers of her fine blonde hair into a halo around her head. She could have been a child at a slumber party, David thought; flashlight in hand, lightly freckled cheeks flushed from a particularly active round of hide and seek, her two round blue eyes alert but sleepy from staying up past her bedtime.

Strangely, everyone seemed _smaller_ in this place, their insignificance made evident by the endless black void imposing like a monster above their heads. The sky swallowed them completely, six tiny figures who didn't belong, out of place and far from home. If one took six grains of sand from a beach and tossed them into the sea-bound breeze, would God care where they landed?

"Has the Captain returned?" David asked softly.

"She and Neo are back. They're changing into some dry clothes." The elusive essence of humour warmed her round, friendly features. "Apparently, the _lake_ is secure."

He nodded, relieved. The suggestion of playfulness between Neo and Trinity was comforting. If all was well between them, then perhaps there was hope after all. If the Universe smiled on their love, then surely someone out there must care about what happens to them.

"Trinity wanted me to assemble the crew for a staff meeting outside, ten minutes. She wants your status on the com."

"_Outside_?"

"Um-hum." Hawk-Eye handed him a tin mug. "She said you'll need this. And you're supposed to bring a stick, about the length of your arm, preferably from a live branch."

"Oh?"

"That's not the least of it. She's got Kirk collecting stones, and Knight peeling birch bark off trees. And my job is to bring a bucket of water. The great Lord above only knows why. No explanation, and she was deadly serious. Just orders. What do you think?"

"I think she's been known to do stranger things under more desperate circumstances," David replied evenly. "So if the Captain wants sticks, then that's our mission."

Hawk-Eye smiled at him fondly, eyes sparkling in the dark. "You have such faith in her," she whispered. "You don't even question it… not even for a second. Why is that, David?"

"My father gave me only one piece of advice when I took this post," he said, offering the southern belle his arm with an understated chivalry, a rare quality instilled in him since his youth. He helped her over debris and down the main shaft of the ruined ship, holding her by the waist as she hopped down onto solid ground. The stars were brilliant above them, the light of a three-quarter moon shining like a distant beacon in the sky.

She shivered, and David kept Hawk-Eye close, sharing his blanket with her. His breath escaped in white puffs as he said, "My father told me, _No matter what, always trust your Captain_. _She knows more than you could imagine_."

* * *

The Captain of the Nebuchadnezzar cursed as she tripped over the tangled mess of metal that used to be her ship's kitchen. Hair still wet and fingers frozen, she rubbed her hands together as she bit her lower lip and hunted through the cupboards. 

"What are you looking for?" Neo asked, bending over and shining the flashlight in the direction of her search.

"Gruel mix."

"_That's_ your idea for improving crew morale?" He shook his head at her as she fumbled through pots and pans. "Why don't I just grab a few plasma guns and take then men out to… you know…" he sniffed and deepened his voice to a gruff rumble, "catch us some supper?"

"Oh yes, the alpha males to the rescue. I'm sure that Knight, _who couldn't catch a bullfrog in the daylight by the way_, is a natural hunter and provider." Trinity rolled her eyes before adding sardonically, "The chipmunks of this forest had better watch out!"

"Ouch. You're being a bit rough on him, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I love Knight. After all, _I picked him out myself_, didn't I? Aha!" Trinity pulled out a battered kettle, a bowl and a few packages of dehydrated protein substitute.

"I only comment because ten minutes ago you yelled at the poor guy for biting his nails."

"It's a bad habit, unbecoming a soldier in Zion's fleet."

"And then you ordered him to get a haircut..."

"It's getting too long for my taste. That's all," Trinity said nonchalantly, adding a bag of refined sugar to her growing collection of supplies. "If he's going to be good enough for… for the _army_, then he should take more pride in his appearance. We do have protocolson this ship, you know."

"Or what's left of it." Neo looked around the room sadly. "Why do I feel that in twenty years, this has been the Neb's first _real_ mission? She didn't fare too well, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I don't know if it's all that bad." Trinity shone the beam of her flashlight around. "I remember a time when the mess hall looked like this on a _good_ day. Oh, Neo… do you have any more of those strawberries?"

He hesitated. "Yes… but I was hoping to save those for… our own _private_ enjoyment. Like… light a few candles, slice up some passion fruit…"

"That's a good idea. Go into our quarters and find those scented candles you gave me for our anniversary, and a pack of matches."

"I didn't mean _tonight, _Trin." He pulled her close in the dark and lowered his voice. "My, that strawberry really did the trick for you, didn't it?"

"I'm _serious_," Trinity said sternly, slipping away and picking up her things. She pushed Neo into the hall. "And while you're there, look under the bed for that really old bottle of WD-40. If it survived, bring it."

"Are you sure?"

Trinity balled the ends of her sleeves around her hands and headed outside. "Our kids were baptized by fire today," she said. "I'd say that merits a drink."

* * *

Huddled together in the clearing next to the destroyed hovercraft were Trinity's crewmen, four bundled figures cast in the cool blue glow of their fluorescent lanterns. Trinity treaded carefully, straining her eyes against the dark to make out the scene unfolding in front of her, observing with interest the young adults under her change. Predictably enough, they'd paired-off in the usual fashion. Her co-pilot and medic were standing together, sharing a pair of blankets and talking. Every few seconds, David rubbed her arms and shoulders, then pressed her hands between his. Neither was smiling, though Hawk-Eye would nod intermittently as David spoke, quietly listening. 

Kirk and Knight, on the other hand, had found their own method of combating the cold. They were scrambling about at the last minute, rushing to complete their unusual assignment by the time their Captain arrived. From what Trinity could tell, they were in the midst of some sort of competition, laughing as they raced each other back and forth from the brush, Knight with armfuls of bark, and Kirk with shirtfuls of rocks. But what the operator didn't realize was that every time his back was turned, Knight was sabotaging his efforts, stuffing handfuls stones into his pockets and emptying them back into the bushes.

Trinity smiled in spite of herself. Although she rarely let her affection show, the truth was she loved this crew… _her_ crew. Over the years, Trinity had been given the privilege of working with some of the best the army had to offer, outstanding young men and women, many of whom had moved on to become colonels and admirals, all remaining close friends. But _this_ group was something special. As a Captain, she could feel it. And, as always, one crewman in particular stood out to her.

Indeed, even as she watched Knight's clumsy attempts to conceal his pillaging (in his voracious greed he'd begun to fill the tiny pockets in his cargo pants as well) Trinity had to admit there was _something_ about him. There always had been, beyond his skills at the computer, beyond his abilities in the sparring arena (he'd come close to beating her more than once) and beyond his playful, boyish disposition, Knight had something more. It was the same indefinable quality she'd seen in Neo a long time ago, a quality that suddenly made the Oracle's prediction all too believable. It was a very _lovable_ quality.

Trinity's heart tightened in her chest as Neo joined her with the candles and a bottle of twenty year old booze. "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah," she answered. "Just… watching them."

Knight had apparently been found out and was half-heartedly trying to defend his deplorable actions to Kirk, who was not pleased at all. "It was just too easy," Knight laughed, holding both hands up in mock surrender, coat and pants visibly heavy with stolen rocks. "I'm sorry, man. You're right. It wasn't cool. I totally apologise. Are we good? Truce?"

"When the Captain gets here, you're taking the heat for this!" Kirk pointed his finger at his friend. "You're always getting me into trouble with her. Not again!"

"Oh, relax." Knight kicked the leaves and bark he'd collected into a pile and dumped the remaining stones from his pockets. "If The High Priestess of the Forest wants more stones, I will personally volunteer to be her humble servant."

"If the Captain heard you call her _that_, she'd probably kill you."

"Hey, did you see what she did to those SWATs?" Knight threw a few punches into the air. "Un-be-lievable. And then, just when you think she's done, she pulls that brilliant stealth move at the last second, flooring two agents… Pow! Pow! They didn't even see it coming! _Neo_ didn't even see it coming! There should be action figures of her… oh, and that _outfit_… I'm sorry, that was a whole new level of cool."

Neo chuckled and rubbed Trinity's back affectionately. "Go easy on him, Trin," he said. "The kid really loves you. He always has."

_If only it stopped there, _she thought, shaking her head at the one young man who never ceased to amaze her. She'd been called many things, but 'High Priestess of the Forest' was definitely a new one. In a brief fluke of egomania, she almost liked it.

"I think we should make our presence known before he says something we'll all regret," Trinity answered. "I'd hate to have to use the little monster as sentinel bait."

As they started towards the clearing, she intentionally dragged her feet noisily, noting with amusement how Kirk slapped Knight on the arm and pointed when he noticed they were coming. They both scuttled around, trying to look busy, Kirk racing back to the bushes and Knight tidying up the pile of supplies they'd accumulated.

"Hard at work, crewmen?" Neo asked with exaggerated authority.

"Urghm. Yes, sir," Knight said. "We had trouble finding rocks, though."

"Hmm." Neo looked at Trinity gravely. "Not enough rocks."

"Very disappointing." Trinity followed her husband's lead, consciously fighting to keep a straight face. They hadn't played this game since Rorie was a girl, but from what she remembered, they were pretty good at it.

"I can help Kirk get more," Knight offered, apparently surprised by how serious they both were. The smirk on his face was gone, and he'd begun to fiddle with the hem of his sweater, a nervous habit Trinity had noticed in him since he was twelve. He had always been a horrible liar.

"Typical. Kirk can't get his work done in time and it's Knight to the rescue," Neo continued. "No, not this time. He's going to face the consequences of his actions."

"I can't believe it," Trinity grumbled under her breath. "I thought I could trust him with this. I guess I was wrong."

"No, really. It's _my_ fault," Knight stammered. "Kirk was helping me out with my work, and that's why he ran behind."

"Oh?" Trinity raised an eyebrow and looked him straight in the eye. "Is that so, cadet?"

"I'm really sorry, Captain. It won't happen again." Knight straightened his posture. "I promise."

"Hmm. I don't know. What do you think, Neo?"

"Well, he did call you _Captain_," Neo shrugged. "That's new. But I don't think it's quite _enough_…"

"Yes, I see what you mean." Trinity soaked in her victim's bewilderment with great satisfaction. "I've been thinking, Knight, that I'd prefer another title… something a bit more grandiose… tell me, what do you think of _High Priestess of the Forest_?"

David chuckled, and Hawk-Eye covered her mouth with her hand.

"Now, if only I had a humble servant at my disposal…" Trinity eyed each of the officers in turn before returning her attention to her mortified tactical officer. "Any volunteers?"

Knight was speechless, and Trinity could imagine his wanting to hang himself from the nearest tree. In an uncharacteristic bout of mercy, she threw him a bone. "Knight, I'm planning to make bannock tonight," she murmured to him. "I could use your… _expertise_ with the fire pit."

He smiled sheepishly and stuttered, "Tee-pee or log-house, Captain?"

"Surprise me," Trinity answered, taking the dark red candles from Neo. She lit each one and arranged them in a triangle, melting them onto the rocks with liquid wax. "Alright, I want everyone to gather around here. It's time for a solemn pact. That is, whatever is said in this forest… _stays_ in this forest. Understand?"

They all nodded, smiles creeping across their faces. Even David seemed amused, which was no small feat. Trinity could tell she was on the right track.

"Alright then," she said. "So Neo, you're helping me with supper and Knight is on campfire duty with the juniors. Keep Hawk-Eye's fire bucket close; if we burn down Genesis the Council will never let me hear the end of it."

"Try not to mix pine branches in the kindling," Knight added. "The sap makes it burn badly."

"How would you know?" Kirk asked.

"Knight was a Boy Scout. Québec division 31. He won the outdoor survival ribbon twice," Trinity stated matter-of-factly.

As his colleagues snickered, Knight glared at her for so flippantly betraying his eight-year long secret. Deciding all bets were off (and had been since the High Priestess slip), he fired back quickly, "And Trinity was a Girl Guide. Division 03, Montréal, 1973-1976. Three-time province-wide canoeing champ."

"_What_?" Neo exclaimed. "You're kidding!"

The entire crew held their breath and stared wide-eyed at Trinity, who had already begun to empty the gruel pouches into the bowl. Without looking up, she repeated dangerously, "_We made a pact_. All that is revealed tonight will remain among the members of this crew _only_. And if you all want to eat, I'd suggest you get moving."

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	16. Chapter 14 pt2

_**a/n:**_

_**Hello, Readers! I'm so happy with the positive response from Part 1 of this chapter! I was a Girl Guide myself, and so was keen on throwing a little of that into my story - And I hope the next few chapters do not dissapoint - **_

_**Please review, and enjoy!**_

_**-Syd**_

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_**Chapter 14, Part 2**_

It was commonly said in Zion (much to Trinity's immense satisfaction) that to work onboard the Nebuchadnezzar was unlike being on any other ship in the fleet. Naturally, to serve under her and Neo was seen as one of the highest honours a soldier could achieve, and the legends associated with the name _Nebuchadnezzar_ seemed to capture the imaginations of Zion's youth and seasoned veterans alike. _The Freeing of The One_, _Cypher's Betrayal_, _Trinity's Ultimatum to The Merovingian… _all these were tales of a crew that had once called the Neb home.

How ironic that when Trinity was younger, she used to make fun of Morpheus' impassioned speeches of 'what it was to be a crewman on the Neb,' never imagining that one day, she'd be singing the same ardent song to her own crew. She could almost hear her former captain in her mind as she begun with the standard lecture, and Neo was smiling at her the entire time, thinking the exact same thing. She'd become the female Morpheus. When they got back to Zion, he would sit down with Niobe and the two of them would snigger for hours doing impressions, Trinity thought in passing. But let them laugh. It was a captain's prerogative to be unreasonably proud of her ship, and her crew. Indeed, if delivered properly, Morpheus' old adages about Heroism and Purpose could be damned inspiring. And with her young officers stranded without electricity or radio in the middle of the dark and cold wilderness (which was quite possibly haunted with sentinels), Trinity would take _inspiring_ in a heartbeat.

So as the junior crewmen built the fire, their operations directed by Knight's knowledgeable instruction, Trinity summoned her old storytelling skills (revived from her first decade of motherhood) and began to 'educate them about their heritage.' After all, soldiers aboard a ship like the Nebuchadnezzar should know the facts about their legendary vessel's most significant missions, free of exaggeration, rumour, speculation and other artistic licence (which were invariably prevalent in all the Zionist versions). _The Neb's Last Mission_ seemed to be the story which drew the most interest, and so Trinity told them the details of that final day of the struggle, being careful to provide as many insights into the dynamics of a war-torn Matrix as she could recall. Indeed, it occurred to her that given the political instability of the system at present, they may find the instruction valuable in the months to come.

"Why are you telling us this?" David asked, as if reading the rather bleak thought that had just crossed her mind. "My father never spoke of these things… he's always refused to share the details."

"Morpheus didn't tell you because you weren't ready to hear it," Trinity said while dusting off her hands on her trousers, having mixed the ingredients for dinner and assigned Neo to spoon-duty. She had no intentions to suggest they may find her story useful in the field; not tonight. "Besides, it isn't a father's place to tell his son."

"Captain?"

"It just isn't how things are done, David." Trinity took a seat on a large rock next to Neo and accepted half a blanket from him. Speaking softly, "What I just told you is not common knowledge for the simple reason that the people who were there know better than to trust Zion with such intimate details. The army has always been this way; we have our secrets, and they're considered sacred, worthy of protection from scrutiny and judgement by outsiders. Not that this precludes people from speculating…"

Trinity cleared her throat and shook her head, as if to banish an unsavoury taste from her mouth. "But the truth of the matter is," she continued with Neo's arm around her, "these aren't our secrets to keep forever. They belong to the Resistance, to be passed on from Captain to crewmen, always under terms of absolute secrecy." She smiled, lighting some birch bark with one of her candles and using it to set the fire. "That being said, it should interest you to know that _this_ crew is the first one I've ever told."

"Why us?" Knight asked.

"Because today you all ceased merely to stand in the shadows of great men. Today, you began your own story," Trinity answered as they all gathered around the roaring fire, their faces glowing orange from the iridescent flames. "Now, I can't pretend to know what kind of future is in store for us, for Zion, for the Resistance. But I do know that _this_ night will forever be remembered… as the night that the crew of the Nebuchadnezzar, _Mark IV_ ate bannock and strawberries around a campfire on the surface of the planet. This is a historic moment, and it's all ours."

"Trin…" Neo handed her the booze.

"Oh, right. I almost forgot." She took the bottle from him thoughtfully. "This… is something that Neo and I have been saving for… a special celebration. David, your father and I drank a good part of it the night you were born, and quite frankly it's a miracle we're still alive. I swear to God, I my earliest memory of you is from when you were two."

The crew laughed, and Knight punched David's shoulder affectionately as the shy co-pilot dipped his head to hide a smile.

"As for what's left of it… there are no grandchildren yet, so tonight will have to do. Someone I used to work with… a great man… made this stuff back a long, long time ago. Back when Neo here was nothing but a twinkle in Morpheus' eye… the war was all but lost, and Hope was thought to be nothing but the last refuge of a few crazy, rogue soldiers. And on the mission when Neo was freed, this great man was killed. Not by a sentinel or an agent, but by one of Us, which is probably the worst death a rebel soldier can imagine. Dozer was our medic, and one of my good friends. He gave his life to the fight… and I'm sure that had it not been for his saving my ass all those years ago, none of us would be sitting here today." Trinity blinked back her emotion, surprised to find herself near tears. She hadn't thought about Dozer in a very long time. "I think that, given the circumstances, he'd want you kids to have it."

She passed the booze around, and each member of the crew poured a small amount into their mugs. Trinity was left with the bottle, which she held up in a toast. "To fallen friends, and what they died for; to the future."

As expected, all four of the younger officers only barely managed to choke the awful stuff down, and Neo and Trinity shared a private chuckle watching them cough. This, more than anything else, was their rite of passage. "They don't make it like this anymore," Neo said, clanking his mug against his wife's bottle. "We used to use this stuff to degrease engines."

"And to disinfect wounds, and unclog pipes," Trinity added. "It has more uses than duct tape."

Neo laughed and nodded his agreement. "I don't know why we ever stopped making it. It'll be the end of an era when the last of it's gone."

In an uncommon display of affection in front of the crew, their fingers interlaced and Trinity put her head on his shoulder. Neo held it there in a protective and comforting gesture, wondering which one of her old drinking friends she was missing. So many of them were dead. So many of them, he'd never even met.

"Okay," Neo said finally, gently to ease her out of it. "Now, from what I remember, this initiation ritual has a Q and A period, right?"

"No, Morpheus just invented that part to keep me awake," Trinity answered. "If it hadn't been for 'Q and A,' and of course, _you_… I probably would have frozen to death."

"What?" Knight asked. "When?"

"I was delirious for the better part of this story, so Neo can tell it better than I can. Here, everyone give me your sticks if you're hungry."

Trinity cocooned the thick gruel-dough around the end of each branch, and then dipped the gob in a glaze of sugar, strawberry and water. "Okay, cook this over the flames until it's golden brown," she instructed, passing them around and then licking her fingers clean. "Personally, I like them a little burnt."

"So what's this about freezing to death?" Knight prompted. "And Q 'n A?"

"It was a long time ago… after I deleted Agent Smith in the hallway of that building on Wells and Lake," Neo began. "We triggered the EMP just in time to save the crew. Or," he sighed, "what was left of us. Morpheus, Trinity, Tank and myself. But while we were making repairs, another swarm of sentinels attacked. We didn't have enough power left for another pulse, but we managed to outrun them, making a final crash landing on the surface. In winter. Past the outskirts of the fields. Tank didn't make it, and Trinity was hurt in the crash…"

Neo trailed off for a moment, remembering how much blood Trinity had lost that day. He could still feel it on his hands, soaking the sleeves of his sweater. Panic-stricken, he'd wrapped her in blankets and held her in his arms as the wind blew snow and ice through the gaping breeches in the hull. The first time he'd ever told her he loved her was after that crash. Trinity was shivering against his chest, barely conscious, and after kissing sensation back into her lips, he'd told her everything, terrified that it was his last chance to do so.

Even near death, she was the most striking woman he'd ever seen. Diamond tears froze in the corners of her eyes, frost sparkling on the tips of her eyelashes. And as always, Trinity possessed him with a gaze of pure sapphire blue. "Do you know how long I've wanted to tell you how beautiful you are?" he'd asked, numbed fingers stroking her hair. And she shook her head… no. She didn't speak, but she smiled. Tell me, Neo. Tell me every detail.

"Well, just looking at you doesn't do it, Trin," he'd murmured into her ear. "_Staring_ is the only way that makes any sense. And trying not to blink, so I don't miss anything? I can't be close to you without wanting to touch you. And I can't touch you without wanting to touch you more. I love you, Trinity. I love you so much."

The fire popped and crackled Neo back into reality, his thumb gently rubbing his wife's hand. He pulled her closer as he resumed his story. "Anyhow, we were stuck on the surface for over ten hours before the Logos finally saved us. In the meantime, Morpheus told old stories of all the great, ancient war heroes. And to keep Trinity awake, he let her ask any questions she wanted to about his life. Things that he wouldn't dream of telling anyone else under any other circumstances."

"Like what?" Hawk-Eye enquired, sitting on the ground and hugging her knees up to her chest.

"Oh, like what his name was the Matrix."

"Well, what was it?" David asked eagerly.

"You know better than to ask me that." The Captain pointed to her trinity of candles. "I also took a solemn vow of secrecy."

Knight spoke up. "Well, what was _yours, _then?"

She stared at him for a long time. He was sitting Indian-style on the ground, blanket in his lap, carefully picking at the hot bannock's syrupy brown crust. "Knight," she said lightly. "Tell me… are you hypothermic?"

"Well, no."

"Can you feel your legs?"

With a disappointed sigh and slumped shoulders he admitted, "Yes, Trinity. I can feel my legs."

"Then you don't get to play Q and A."

"But I did burn myself on the bannock," Knight argued, presenting his sugar-coated fingers as evidence. "And those rocks were heavy. Kirk was faster than I thought, and it wasn't easy to sneak them all back to the bushes before you got here."

"You didn't even do that. I was here the whole time." Trinity blew some flames off her supper and set it aside to cool. "_Désolé, mon petit prince de la nuit_, but you will have to be halfway to heaven before you get _that_ secret out of me."

"May I ask something?" Kirk chimed in.

Trinity gave her operator a nod, and popped a strawberry in her mouth before passing the bag around.

"Well…" he hesitated, fumbling nervously before coming out with the question. "After the war ended, for months everyone thought you and Neo were dead. And then Captain Morpheus found you both in the Matrix. But that's all anybody knows. What happened in the Machine City? Why did the Machines send you back?"

Trinity felt her husband's body tense, and he slid his hand free of hers. Neo didn't look at her, he just stared straight ahead, a frown worrying his brow. Trinity remembered that Rorie had asked her father the exact same question once; she had to have been ten or so. _Daddy, why did you come back?_ It was too complex a question for such a young girl, asked so innocently over breakfast one morning. They'd both been caught off guard, though Neo hardly showed it. And Trinity would never forget what his answer had been.

"I came back to take care of you," he had told their daughter seriously.

"That doesn't make any sense," Rorie challenged. "I wasn't even born yet. And even if I were, why would The Machines send you all the way back here… just for me?"

"_Just_ for you! Can you think of anyone more important?" Neo asked her. "Can you think of one person in this entire city who is more special to me than you are?"

Rorie thought about this for a few moments, and without a word, she returned her attention to her breakfast. Neo must have thought he'd made his point, because he smiled at Trinity knowingly, telling her an entire story without speaking a single word. They both knew that he'd given their daughter the only answer that mattered, the only _real_ answer to that question. Nothing else was of any consequence.

It was only when Neo rose to leave and kissed them both goodbye that he realised the issue had not been completely resolved.

"No. I don't believe you," Rorie said pensively. "There _must have been _another reason."

Even then, she was a realist. Neo had nothing else to say, so he gave her a second kiss on the forehead and wished her a good day at school. Then, just before he left, Rorie turned in her chair and called back after him.

"But…_ if_ it _is_ true... if they sent you back to take care of me… then you're doing a really good job, Dad."

If Trinity could have, she would have bottled whatever perfect combination of emotions she'd seen expressed in Neo's eyes at that moment. To this day, only Rorie could give him that much joy. Try as she may, Trinity couldn't even come close.

If only it were possible to take Neo back with her to this memory, Trinity thought as she watched him gaze into the fire, if only to have him reclaim a small fraction of his previous happiness. But he was troubled now, his mood beyond repair. No, they would not tell the crew. This was one story that was better left untold, and if possible, unremembered.

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_**a/n: Just b/c Neo and Trin don't want to remember doesn't mean we can't ! ... Ch 15: Flashback : What happened after Neo and Trinity "died" in 01?**_


	17. Chapter 15 pt1

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_**Chapter 15,Part 1**_

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**_(A/N: if you haven't read "Chapter Four" yet, it's recommended you do so before continuing. _**

**_These chapters should fit together like two puzzle pieces!)_**

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_The Matrix, _circa_ 2200. Two Months After the War Ended_

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It was two weeks before Christmas in Montréal, and from what she remembered, this city had always been beautiful during the holidays. Ms. Jordan Andrews walked down _de Maisonneuve Ouest_, high heeled boots making punctuated triangles in the freshly fallen snow. Even though she was ten minutes early she walked quickly, the sense of urgency in her clickity-clackety step sounding familiar and yet alien at the same time. It wasn't a matter of her moving fast. From Jordan's point of view, everything else was just too damn slow. 

Her gloved hands were warmed by a double mocha Diablo to go which smelled like heaven, and with every sip it became more and more believable that she'd been without this sacred tonic for the better part of thirteen years. It felt good to drink coffee again, to eat good food, get drunk and have sex again. Sometimes, it seemed that none of it would ever be enough, that she'd never find enough life to fill the void of everything, and everyone she'd lost.

"_Salut, bébé_."

Demitri was standing outside her building, ruggedly unshaven, jingling the keys to a brand new motorcycle in his hand.

"Don't call me that," she said evenly, taking the keys from him. He slithered an arm around her waist and pulled her into a deep kiss, an effective reminder of the night before.

"Where is it?" Jordan asked, pulling away as quickly as she could.

"Around the corner, like you wanted."

"Good." She pitched her half-empty coffee cup into a nearby trashcan and turned to leave, but he kept her by the arm and yanked her back.

"I thought we could go up. Finalize the transaction," he breathed, hand sliding down her torso.

She caught his wrist and slipped him a compact disk. "Give this to your boss. I have somewhere to be."

"Hey, whoa. Hold on there," he said. "It wasn't easy to get my hands on that ride for you."

"Later. I'll call you." Jordan let him kiss her again, though she knew she'd never call. Like the others, she'd tired of him quickly. Nothing he could do would thrill her for a second time.

She left him on the sidewalk and spun the keys around her index finger a few times in anticipation. The doctors had suggested she avoid motorcycles for awhile, but Jordan couldn't wait. This is what Ghost would have wanted, she thought. He would have wanted her to _live_.

She took a shortcut through the ally behind her upscale apartment complex, treading carefully around patches of black ice. One either side of her were old brick walls with barred windows, and a police siren in the background echoed down the street. Feeling uncharacteristically insecure, Jordan listened carefully to the din of the city, holding her breath. Someone was following her, she realized. And it was not the first time.

She slid her hand into her jacket and wrapped her palm around her Beretta 84. Taking a few more careful steps ahead, she waited, silently challenging her stalker to come to play. A few people brushed past her, chattering excitedly about an upcoming Christmas party, calling for a cab at the intersection. Still, Jordan waited. She bent over, using one hand to adjust her pantyhose.

"Come on," she whispered. "Come on."

She could see him from the corner of her eye. He was a well-dressed man in a black wool coat, pretending to be engrossed in a copy of yesterday's _La Presse_. He'd been reading the same paper this morning and yesterday afternoon, Jordan observed, though he never knew she'd noticed him. On the bus. Outside the bakery. At work.

He closed the paper and tucked it under his arm, checking his nonexistent watch before finally walking by her, subtly touching the fabric of her skirt as he passed. But before he knew what was happening, she spun around and yanked his arm behind his back, awkwardly pushing it up towards his head as she slammed him chest first into the wall.

"_Pourquoi tu me suis partout?"_ she demanded, shoving the barrel of her gun into his back. _"Eh?" _

"I don't speak French."

She glanced at the francophone newspaper on the ground. "Interesting reading then, double-oh."

"You still don't recognize me."

"On the contrary. You've been a fixture in my life for weeks. You're the geek from the movie." Jordan plunged her hand into his coat pocket and found his wallet. Opening it and glancing at an expired Illinois-issued driver's licence, "Mr. Anderson. Or do you prefer just Tom?"

"Jesus Christ, Trinity. Don't call me that."

She froze, breath catching in her throat. She was weak in the knees. "How do you know that name?"

"Unfortunately, that's the _only_ name I knew. Do you know how difficult it was to find you? In fourteen months, would it have killed you to tell me 'Jordan Andrews'? It really isn't that bad."

Mind spinning, she put away her gun and stepped back, letting him turn around. She wanted to see his face. This handsome stranger with eyes the colour of cocoa was looking at her in a way nobody ever had before, in a way that affected her deeply. He looked at her as one studies a fine piece of art, gazing past the exterior to find some hidden meaning, to identify the true essence of its beauty. Whatever he was searching for, Jordan finally decided, was irrelevant. Whatever it was died a long time ago.

"I don't use that name anymore," she said, lowering her voice. "I haven't for years. And I don't remember you. I probably never will, so just leave me alone."

She held out his wallet, but he didn't take it. He just continued to stare at her with such emotion that she found it difficult to dismiss him so coldly. "Look, you're obviously… someone I used to know," she sighed. "But… I was in a motorcycle accident when I was fifteen, and have been in a coma until a couple months ago. And I just want to get on with my life. So please…"

"A motorcycle accident?" he scowled, thinking. "With a man named Alan Lee? You called him Ghost."

"You…" she scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. "How do you know…"

"Because he told me the whole story. Months ago."

"Look, I don't know who you are, but I don't find this funny," she snapped, cheeks flushed and voice shaking. "Ghost died in that accident thirteen years ago."

"No, no he didn't. You were attacked by some agents, but Morpheus and Niobe got you out; both of you were unplugged that night. In Kansas City, December 3rd, 1977. And you haven't been in a coma for thirteen years. Ironically, nothing could be further from the truth."

"What are you… you're out of your mind," she said, and although she turned from him, she didn't walk away. It was impossible that he knew so much detail about that night. The date, the place, the name of the man she was with…

"You set out to meet Morpheus," he said, carefully stepping closer to her. When she didn't move away, he leaned forward until his chest was against her back, one hand gently cupping her elbow. "And when you found him, he told you that it wasn't really _him_ you were looking for. You were looking for an answer."

"What is the Matrix?" she whispered, recalling the details of her disastrous past with horrifying clarity. She and Ghost had searched for years, and risked their lives on several occasions to find the man known as Morpheus. The God of Dreams. And although she'd struggled to forget that pursuit, the fruitless chase that had claimed her best friend's life, she knew now that it was impossible.

"The answer is in you. It's part of who you are."

"Who are you?" she asked, turning in his arms and looking into deep brown eyes, eyes that in spite of everything, inspired her absolute confidence.

"My name is Neo," he said. "And when you're ready, you'll know where to find me. _Trin_… "

And then he left her, pulling his coat tight around his body and clutching the collar around his neck. "Wait!" she hollered after him, rushing to the end of the ally and turning the corner. McGill College Avenue was abuzz with shoppers, the snow-covered trees decorated with thousands of tiny red and white lights. But he was gone. And in that moment, Jordan Andrews had never felt more alone.

* * *

It rained that Christmas Eve, which was unusual weather for late December in Québec. The midnight mass had just finished, and exactly as he had every night since he'd spoken to Trinity, Neo waited in the final row of the church, staring up at the beautiful stained glass windows which were the pride of _Notre-Dame de Montréal Basilica_. 

Of course, he'd never stopped following her. Every day, shivering on the curb by her apartment building, he watched Trinity leave for work, sometimes accompanied by a man, and it was never the same one twice. It hurt him more than he ever thought possible. The way they touched her, the way they clumsily tried to love her without knowing her, doing it all wrong. He could tell by the way her body reacted to a caress, or to a kiss goodbye. None of them moved Trinity the way he could.

But even in midst of this emotional torture, Neo couldn't walk away. He had to remain close, to be sure she was alright. Occasionally, she'd catch his eye, smiling back with a small wave. It seemed that even though she didn't remember him, Trinity had grown to accept and even enjoy his constant presence in her life. In fact, yesterday her doorman gave him a small box wrapped with gold and silver paper. The tag read, "_To Neo, stay warm this Christmas. Jordan_." The gift was a beautiful black cashmere scarf and leather gloves, which he was wearing now, thinking of her with a sad smile on his face.

That she still called herself 'Jordan' was discouraging, though he was hopeful. He hadn't remembered at first, either. Ten weeks ago he'd woken up in Chicago, in his old apartment, alarm buzzing seven-thirty in the morning. He'd gotten dressed, and walked to the office, greeting his old coworkers as if nothing had happened. Everything at Metacortex was exactly as he'd remembered, and from Tom Anderson's point of view, nothing from the past year and a half of his life had ever happened.

It was that night after he'd gone to bed that everything came rushing back. Zion, The War, The Machine City, Smith, Trinity. And then there were The Judges. Identifying themselves as the three Masters of the Machine Judicial System, they greeted him from a huge red platform floating above a traditional courthouse room, the jury and audience filled with strange, faceless androids. Neo was vaguely reminded of the B166ER trial, which history recorded had been overrun with AI robots, none of which were eventually permitted in the courtroom.

"We speak on behalf of The Source, who has decided to spare your life," the center Justice spoke, an android displaying human features with white face paint and a tall red hat. "After repairing your body, we reloaded your memory files. You may go in peace."

"Where am I?" Neo asked. "Don't tell me I'm back in the fields."

"The ideal setting for recuperation. The eighty percent saline solution infused with hormonal growth factors and antibacterial compounds ensure that-"

"What about Zion?"

"It is our hope that your people have survived the attack."

"It is your _hope_?" Neo puzzled over the unusual choice of words, wondering if that these three mysterious figures truly did speak for The Source. There was no question in Neo's mind that if Zion had survived, The Source would have been the first to know. Yet The Judges were being evasive. Nor did he expect the Machine High Power to send him to the fields and reinsert his mind into the Matrix. It didn't make any sense.

"Alright," he'd said, deciding not to trust them with further questions. "I wish you well."

"There is one more matter to discuss." This time, the Judge on the right spoke. He was handsome young man with a muscular build and a bald head, though his movements and voice sounded mechanical. "There is the Question of Trinity."

Neo's heart ached at the sound of her blessed name. "You will return her body to me," he said evenly, even commandingly. "And the ship on which we came. You're not to touch her remains."

"We can save her," said the Judge on the left, a young woman with light blue hair and eyes the colour of seaweed. She reminded Neo of a mermaid. With a metallic chirp, "Your love needn't die."

"What?" Try as he may, Neo couldn't keep the desperation from his voice. "You can bring her back?"

"It is within our power," replied the center Judge. "We are prepared to negotiate for her life."

"Negotiate?"

"An exchange," said the mermaid. "A life for a life."

He stood there for a moment, looking at the jury's featureless, copper coloured heads, feeling completely and utterly defeated. "I'll die for her," he said. "If those are your terms."

"No. We mean the life of your unborn child," said the bald man. "Trinity carries a twenty-two day old fetus, a girl. The Third of the Trinity is what we want."

That such a child existed gave Neo a fleeting moment of joy, a poignant instant of such happiness that it was all he could do not to cry. His child… their baby… oh, Trinity. Oh, God.

"But why?" he begged them. "What could you possibly want with her? Just _one_ child… one innocent of Zion…"

"Our purpose is not your concern."

"The hell it isn't. I won't just…" Neo fought for composure, "_give_ her to you. I can't. I won't."

"Very well. Then Trinity and your child will die," the Mermaid said indifferently. "This is your choice, then?"

Neo choked, panic spreading through his body as he stared back into the emotionless eyes of the three machines. The old woman picked up her gavel, and was about to slam it against the desk when he called out, "Wait!"

"Yes, human?"

"Tell me what you want with the baby. Tell me why you're doing this. I need to know what you'll… do to her."

The old woman seemed to think the answer was plain enough, and sighed her exasperation at having to explain anything to him. "She would be treated as an honoured gift of good will from The Human Messiah to the city of 01, to be kept as a symbol of our peace in the heart of our city. And as such, her biochemical energy will service us in the Matrix, of course. If you wish, we will ensure her material comfort with a wealthy family; she will have everything she could ever want. Education, security and peace. All these conditions will be met given the understanding that you will not interfere with her life. That you relinquish all association."

"If you want the baby so badly why don't you just take her?" Neo asked suspiciously. "Why bargain Trinity's life like this?"

"The child does not belong to us," the white-faced android said, holding out a scroll to him. "The exchange must be legal, the transaction binding and unbreakable. We are at peace, and no laws between our peoples will be broken by this court."

"Then let Trinity live, and I will give my life for the baby," Neo proposed. "I will be your prisoner in the child's place -"

The machine slammed its gavel on the desk. "This exchange is non-negotiable. Will you sign it, or nay?"

He examined the document, reading over the terms of the exchange with shaking hands. His options were clear. Either Trinity and the baby both die, or he could save his love at the expense of their child's freedom. Life in the Matrix was a fate worse than death, Neo considered bitterly, unable to accept the idea of his daughter captive in a biopod, a battery powering the very source of her enslavement. But else to have her and Trinity die together where they lay in the Logos?

He couldn't live without her. That was the ultimate truth. That was his fundamental weakness; all nobility and moral strength paled to his need for Trinity. His compass. His love. His Everything. It terrified him to realize just how far he'd go to preserve that connection. It was true. He'd give _anything_.

"I'll sign it," Neo said quietly, the words cold and metallic on his tongue. "On one condition. That you don't tell Trinity. She's never to know the baby even existed. Let this terrible sin be on my head."

And it was under that understanding that Neo left them, waking up in his one room apartment in the dead of night, alone. Alone and unbearably empty. What he'd done disgusted him to no end, and the only thing that kept his battered heart beating was the thought of seeing her again.

Neo took the first flight out to Montréal, not even knowing the name of the woman for whom he was looking. But it was a relatively small city, and he knew Trinity. He staked-out all the major computer tech firms and, recalling her love of traditional Atlantic music, spent his nights hopping all the Irish pubs south of Ste Catherine. But for an entire month, his search yielded no results. With no message from Zion, and no contact from The Oracle, Neo was adrift, lost, and unhappy.

Perhaps it was only natural that she should appear to him then, always emerging from the shadows when he needed her most. In the midst of his depression, Neo bought a ticket to see _Star Wars Episode I_, squeezing intothe crowded theatre just as the previews began.

"Is this seat taken?" she'd whispered to him, unbuttoning her leather jacket, a Dr. Pepper and an open bag of caramel popcorn in her hand. Neo could only shake his head, no.

Trinity's hair was long and wavy, and he nearly didn't recognize her in a skirt and red lace top, large jade earrings overstating her eclectic style. She floated into the chair, sliding a black purse and some shopping bags under her legs. "Oh, damn," she whispered. "I can't see a thing." Giving him an apologetic look and flirtatiously touching his shoulder, she whispered, "You're tall. Would you mind switching? I'll give you the prize from my Cracker Jacks."

While the opening theme music played, each rushed to shuffle into the other's chair, and as their bodies pressed together in the switch, and Neo felt the barrel of her handgun against his chest. There could be no doubt that this was Trinity, and that although she was as paranoid as ever bringing a gun to a movie, she didn't remember him at all.

According to the Judges, once they finished repairing her injuries, Trinity's memories would be restored just as his had been, a rather ingenious mechanism to ensure they didn't unplug themselves before the machines had finished treatment. So Neo decided to be patient, to follow her, watch her, and wait. The movie was a disappointment, and from Trinity's continuous groaning whenever Jar Jar Binx made an appearance, he knew she agreed. It was a shame, he thought. She was such a fan.

"Excuse me," he'd said after the film was over, picking up her bags and handing them to her. "I was wondering if you uhm… can I have your name?"

She smiled, eyes fluttering around as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "Look, I'm flattered, but I don't think so. You aren't my type."

He didn't know weather to be insulted, or just laugh at her. "Excuse me?" he managed.

"Sorry. I can tell you're a nice guy."

"But?"

"But I don't date nice guys. They're way too disappointed when it doesn't work out. Trust me, it's for your own good." She handed him a tiny plastic compass, the ten-cent toy she'd promised him from her snack. "But I'll see you around, soldier."

Trinity didn't seem to notice her own unorthodox choice of words as she gathered her things and walked away, forcing Neo to stalk her all the way back to her posh building. And since then, not a day went by that he didn't see her, long for her, miss her, and never more so than he did now. It was Christmas day at half past midnight, and the altar servers were tiding up, clearing the wine and locking the Blessed Sacrament in the tabernacle. For the first time since frequenting the Basilica, Neo had attended mass, taking communion as he had when he was a boy. He lit a candle in remembrance of the victims of the Machine Invasion, silently hoping that Morpheus, Niobe, Ghost and Link were alive, and then, for the first time in his entire life, Neo got down on his knees and prayed.

_God, please give her back to me. Save me. Take it all if you must. But do not leave me here alone. _

"Neo."

She staggered into the empty church, soaking wet and trembling. Trinity wasn't wearing a coat and her long tousled hair was sticking to her face, mascara staining her cheeks. A fallen angel, reaching out to him desperately, stumbling into his arms. "I knew you'd be here," she cried, clutching him with numbed fingers. She'd told him more than once that if they ever visited her city, this was the one thing she wanted him to see. Neither had forgotten.

"You were right. It's beautiful, Trin," Neo whispered, separating from her long enough to wrap his coat and the scarf she'd given him around her shoulders.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry about everything. They didn't mean a thing, Neo. None of it meant a thing. I love you."

"Never mind," he whispered, rubbing her back and arms, still trying to stop her from shaking. "I love you, too."

"I'm alive. They brought me back. I don't understand. Why?"

He held her close, pressing her head to his chest so she wouldn't see the tears run down his cheeks. "I don't know, Trin. I just don't know."

* * *

**_a/n: to be continued in pt 2... pls review:)_**


	18. Chapter 15 pt2

**_a/n: So, we are continuing directly form last chapter, part 1. There will actually be three parts, butI am posting parts 2 and 3 together, because they really should be read torgther for the sake of continuity. Thank you all for _****_your support, and Enjoy!_**

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_**Chapter 15, Part 2**_

They slept in the same bed that night, spooned together under a heavy duvet as the freezing rain wailed its unforgiving song across the city. For Neo, to hold Trinity again, to press his lips to the back of her neck, to lose his fingers in her hair was like finally coming home, though the comfort was fleeting. The trouble was, they weren't home. The plugs in her head and back were gone, as were many of the scars and birthmarks to which he'd become accustomed. The map of her body had changed, his map to reality wiped clean, flawless, rendered inhuman.

And though he slept next to Trinity, whispered the name _Trinity_ as he shifted with her in his sleep, Neo couldn't completely separate her identity from Jordan's. Only yesterday, had she slept like this with someone else, he wondered, resenting himself almost instantly for such petty, irrational musings. Jordan's affairs were irrelevant. The truth was he hated himself. He hated himself for what he'd done to bring her back. And if she knew, she'd probably hate him, too. If it had been Trinity's choice, Neo knew she would have died, along with their child, with dignity and closure.

Neo awoke at half past ten to gentle pressure on his arm and tiny hairs tickling his cheek. "Trin?" he grunted drowsily, reaching up to touch her, turning his face to welcome a kiss. But when his eyes cracked open, he realized that the morning embrace was from a rather unexpected source. Not that the cat didn't bear an uncanny resemblance; it was lithe and slender, completely black with exotic blue eyes.

He pushed the covers aside, gathering the purring, long-haired pet in his arms, rising to the scent of coffee and croissant. Trinity's apartment looked different in the daylight, her large bedroom warmly decorated in deep red fabrics, full-length mirrors and mahogany furniture. Her side of the bed was empty, a navy nightgown tossed on the mattress.

"Trinity?" Neo walked into the open loft, glancing out the large windows at sleet obscuring the city skyline. Referring to the cat he still held, "Who's this?"

"Oh, that's uhm…" she hesitated. Trinity's hair was cut short and she was already fully dressed, sipping orange juice while surfing the net on a laptop computer. Finally she sighed and said under her breath, "Her name's _Déjà-Vu_."

"You're kidding."

"I'm afraid not. You want coffee, or is your mind already too free to enjoy it? I know it tasted different to me this morning."

"I'll take a splash."

"It's in the bodem. Strawberry preserves are on the table if you want something with the croissant. I uhm… I made a fruit salad and vanilla yogurt parfait, too."

"How long have you been up?" he asked, pouring himself a mug of the strongest coffee he'd ever taste. The entire kitchen was glass and stainless steel, save the mosaic tile counter which blazed with a million squares of every colour imaginable.

"Since five. I couldn't sleep."

Neo noticed that her keys and purse were on the dining room table, and she'd left her scarf on the radiator to dry. "You went out?"

"Yes." She faltered for a moment. "For milk."

"Well, you have a nice place," he remarked, finding some sliced salmon and cream cheese in the fridge. He popped a sliced bagel in the four-slot toaster. "Don't tell me Texacortem pays their programmers this well."

"No."

"So, then. Cracked open any good IRS D-bases lately?"

She didn't answer him, typing quickly on her keyboard, seemingly deep in concentration. Deciding to leave her to her thoughts, Neo walked around the room with his coffee, taking a quick tour of Jordan Andrews' life. Of a life Trinity had never told him about, though he'd asked more than once.

The apartment was meticulously organized and decorated in a modern, minimalist style, which didn't surprise him, and yet many of the details caught him off guard. Her bookshelf, in particular, was quite a puzzle. _Multivariable calculus, The Cambridge Monographs on Particle Physics, The Gibrov Lectures on Quantum Electrodynamics, Noncommutative Geometry_… many of them were first-edition printings from the sixties and seventies, the bindings old and torn, with sheets of notes poking from between the pages. But these looked as if they hadn't been touched in years. They were stacked under other books, biographies and publications of David Hume and William James. A copy of Tennyson's poetry. Shakespeare. Milton. The Bible. Knowing Ghost's avid interest in philosophy, literature and religion, Neo guessed that this was Alan Lee's influence. And possibly his all his books, as well. Neo turned his attention to her desk, surprised to see a few pages of hand-written sheet music.

"I didn't know you played the piano."

"I don't. _She_ did. Jordan's mother forced her to take lessons."

Although referring to one's past identity in the third person was not uncommon among pod-borns, Neo had to wonder if it was appropriate in the present circumstance. Jordan had dated her work, _December 24th, 2000_. Yesterday.

"Can you play it for me?" Neo asked, dusting eraser shavings off the music and stacking the papers in his hands. She had a beautiful grand piano off the dining room, and more than anything else, he wanted to get Trinity away from that computer; watching her was depressing him.

"I'd rather not."

"Nobody's out there, Trin. I tried."

She sighed. "Well, it's been ten weeks. The question is, how long would it take a devastated city to build a broadcast-capable hovercraft."

"Beats me."

"From scratch, I could probably do it in three weeks. But that's with all the raw materials and manpower at my disposal. And if there was serious damage to Zion's infrastructure, their first priority would be life support. So, with Morpheus pressuring the Council, three months? Maybe four."

"I hope you're right," Neo said, thinking less about her proposed timeline than weather or not Morpheus was still alive. The last time he'd seen him, their captain was leaving with Niobe and the others on a suicide mission through a support line.

"Your bagel's done."

Neo only vaguely heard her, his attention captured by a black and white photograph on her desk. A young man only barely recognizable as Ghost was wearing thickly-framed rectangular glasses and a professor's jacket and tie, collar covered in chalk. He was laughing, his arm around a much older woman who was undoubtedly Trinity's mother. The resemblance was uncanny. She had a cup of coffee in her hand and a pile of manuscripts in another, and it looked as if she was in the process of unloading them onto Ghost, who was playfully refusing the assignment. Neo squinted to make out more details. The chalkboard behind them was covered in some kind of mathematics, though it didn't look like a classroom. Large computers and several pieces of unidentifiable equipment suggested a lab.

Neo flipped through some of the files on her desk, most of which were from work, although there were a few receipts from a storage company in Westmount, and some hospital bills from her bogus coma. That the Matrix was charging her for the fraudulent illness was annoying to him, though he kept his comment to himself, knowing Trinity had probably noticed the cheap irony herself by now.

Under the pile of folders were a few envelopes filled with pictures and old documents. Curious, he unfolded some yellowed papers, which were death certificates for a Sydney and William Andrews, dated 1975 and 1964, respectively. There were letters as well, handwritten scribbles on bits of stationary, napkins, loose leaf. Some were just endless lines of mathematics with random comments written into the caption. Neo noted that many, even the ones which were almost wholly equations, were addressed to _The_ _Trinity_, and had been signed _Love to you as always, The_ _Ghost. _

_April 13th, 1977: I won't spew any of my philosophic nonsense. I know how you hate that. And you already know how I feel about this, but I can't deny you any longer. For you, we will leave tonight for Kansas… _

"What are you doing?"

Neo jumped. Trinity was beside him, her face white as she gathered the letters, folding them back into their envelopes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"What? That things on my desk might be private?"

"Technically, this is Jordan's desk."

"And that makes it okay?"

"No, it's just that…" Neo sighed. "Trinity, you know everything about me. You always have. Christ, before we even met you'd pulled out every file on Thomas Anderson that ever existed. You'd watched me in my apartment for months… I couldn't have a secret from you if I wanted to."

"And so you're going to dig up _mine_?"

"I rather you just _tell_ me something about yourself once in awhile. In almost year of living together, how much have you ever told me about your life before the war? I didn't even know your name."

"You know everything that matters. You know that I love you," she said. "Isn't that enough?"

"Maybe it isn't. Maybe I want both of you. You and Jordan." Neo handed her the letter he'd been reading. "Why can't I know you as he does?"

"Ghost? This is about… _Ghost_?" She panted, searching around the room as if looking for a way out. Neo could tell she was about to cry, though he didn't completely understand the reason. She couldn't even meet his eyes. "We were friends. Not that it's your business anyway."

"I didn't mean that-"

"God, I can't believe this. I've given _everything_ for you! You'll _never_ know what I have given for you!"

Her explosive response shocked him, and all Neo could mutter was a bitter, "Excuse me, _Queen_ of Sacrifices." He hated himself for speaking to her so, but he could not contain his resentment of her monumental oblivion. If she only knew why she was _really_ here… But how could she? How could she have any idea what he was going through?

Trinity was crying now; they'd never fought like this before. It upset him to know he'd made her cry. And although he continued to believe himself in the right, to begrudge her and Jordan their mysterious past, the instinct to console her was stronger than his indignation. He pulled her against his chest, though she was rigid, and whispered an apology in her ear.

Trinity's tears were warm on his neck; her sobbing on his shoulder was first thing that had felt real in months. And though he realized the timing was twisted, he wanted her. They hadn't made love the night before; his only concern had been her comfort. Trinity was so overwrought that even after a hot shower she hadn't stopped trembling until she fell asleep in his arms. But now, in spite of everything, or perhaps because of it, he wanted her.

Neo lifted Trinity's chin and murmured another _'I'm sorry'_ before kissing her, pressing her body to his the way he used to, down in the hot caves of Zion. Hackneyed fantasies of having her on the beach of some deserted island paled in comparison; Neo would have given anything to be back home with her, where it was real. Candles everywhere, her nearly transparent clothing clinging to sweaty skin, no bra, usually no undergarments at all, not when she planned on being with him. She was better than a dream, Neo thought, eyes closed as he explored her RSI, imagining that it was the real thing. She was better than anything his, or even _her_ mind could invent.

"No, Neo…" she whispered, breaking their kiss. "I can't."

"What?" That she was rejecting him again was hurtful. And this time, he _was_ insulted. "Why?"

"It's this _place_…" she said, still tearful and slipping from his arms. "We have to get out of here. Tell me we're not stuck in here…"

"I told you. I don't know, Trin."

She shook her head, as if becoming prisoners in the Matrix had been his proposal for her to reject. "I can't be stuck in here. Not again."

"Well, I don't like the idea any more than you do." He pulled her back to him, wanting to calm her the only way he knew how. "But while we're here…"

"No. Stop it. I just… I can't. It isn't right."

"And if we are trapped here for the rest of our lives?" Neo asked, not wanting to even consider the possibility himself, but needing her to tell him that she'd be there for him. That they'd get through it together. But he wouldn't get the answer he wanted.

"I don't know. I need space. I need to think," she said, grabbing her coat and purse.

"So you're leaving? That's your solution?"

"Yeah, well. Maybe there's a fucking bridge I can jump off."

The flippant proposal of suicide made him angry. "You're right. Killing yourself a much better way to spend an afternoon than making love with me."

"That's not what it would be. Not here."

"Fine. But that didn't stop you from fucking every other guy in the city. I guess I'm just not your type."

Of course, Neo regretted it before he even said it, but he didn't even have a moment to take it back. She was already gone, the final two words of his sentence lost as the door slammed behind her.

* * *

The pregnancy test she'd bought that morning had given negative results, and though the news didn't surprise her, Trinity was heartbroken. If the crash hadn't done it, she reasoned, two months of metabolic stasis in a pod certainly would. The worst part was she couldn't be completely sure. Perhaps somehow, in the real world, the baby was still alive. Trinity entertained the possibility in flukes of hope all morning, but ultimately her instincts told her to mourn. She could feel it, that tingle of excitement in the pit of her stomach, that indescribable glow of life was gone. She was empty. And trapped in this prison, where even her pain was dampened by the simulation. _Simulated_ feelings… 

After preparing several breakfast dishes, she'd baked all morning until Neo woke up, keeping her hands busy as she imagined how she was going to tell him. One batch of ginger cookies, a maple-crumb cake, twelve double chocolate brownies, and two apple crisps later she'd cried all the tears she had, burning her fingers on the bunt pan and enjoying none of the fruits of her labour. Overwrought, she ran to the bathroom and cut off her long hair as a private expression of grief. And still, none of it seemed enough. In a place such as the Matrix, nothing would ever be enough.

Strangely, fighting with Neo seemed more real than kissing him. This illusion, this shadow of the man she loved. The minute Trinity saw him that morning, hair adorably mussed from sleep, holding her cat against his naked chest, she knew she couldn't tell him. Telling him would only condemn Neo to a suffering similar to her own, and without any real means of comforting each other, they'd probably die here, broken and separated. Their only hope was to cling to what they still had, Trinity had decided, two buoys strapped together in stormy waters, weathering the waves, waiting for rescue.

But when he'd mentioned Ghost… how could he have any idea what that did to her? The memory of her final conversation with her best friend was an open wound that hadn't even begun to heal. In the light of their present circumstance, Trinity saw her confession to Ghost as the ultimate betrayal to Neo. Indeed, torn between resenting her lover for his insensitive attacks on her lack of sacrifice and hating herself for the reason she didn't deserve them, it was all Trinity could do to leave without snatching up her gun and ending it all then and there. Even in her more rational moments, a lover's murder suicide was more attractive than a life in the Matrix. She'd tell Neo about the baby, then kill him and herself. The thought excited and terrified her, and though Neo would never know, over the following twenty one days, as he slept peacefully beside her, she'd seriously considered the action more than once.

But ultimately, she loved him too much to hurt him, by denying him his life, or denying him hers. She suffered in silence, struggling to find some kind of anchor. That night she'd returned home with two containers of Häagen-Dazs strawberry ice cream, sincerely relieved to find Neo still there. Trinity lit a fire for them and spent the evening on the couch, in his arms, telling him Jordan's life story. It was the least she could do to tell him _something_, to hold onto what little they had left.

Her mother had been a physicist, and one of the truest redpills who never made it out of the Matrix, Trinity began. But she hadn't hacked her way to The Question. She'd discovered it though her meticulous research into the basic properties of elementary particles, through years of trying to process erroneous data that could lead her to no other conclusion other than the matter _itself_ was flawed. The world was flawed. Everything was a mathematical approximation. Over simplified. Synthetic. "Before scientists really started to dig, the programming that made up the most basic components of matter were only exact up to a point. In fact, the machines had really half-assed electrons," Trinity said, smiling faintly though her voice was dark. "Nobody believed her, of course. Mom was discredited in her field, her funding cut off. But she couldn't let it go, and there was nothing that could be done. Even if the rebels had found her at that point, she was too old to unplug. She went crazy, as people like that inevitably do. Killed herself with an overdose of sleeping pills. Ironic, don't you think? _Sleeping_ pills."

Neo didn't know what to say. Trinity had been sixteen and a recently-admitted undergraduate in mathematics. And she'd watched her mother go crazy. She'd been the one to find her body. "The thing was, I believed her," Trinity said softly, face eerily void of expression. "I wanted to deny it, but I couldn't. I knew, I had known for a long time that there was something wrong with the world. But I was afraid that I was going crazy like she did. Schizophrenia. That was the diagnosis. The doctors convinced me I had it, just as she did. Wanted me to get help. But I would have killed myself before I'd let them lock me up. And it probably would have come to that, had it not been for Ghost."

A philosophy PhD candidate with an interest in defining the limits of reality, Alan Lee had taken notice of her mother's increasingly obscure publications in the early seventies. They communicated in correspondence at first, but eventually the young man had abandoned his studies at UCLA to fly to McGill to meet the woman in person. "There is a group of guys back in California, and some at MIT who call themselves _hackers_," he'd said one night after her mother had invited him to dinner. "They're into ARPANET and most of them were on the project when the first node went live. Rumour is, these computer geeks know the answers. But I did some digging, and the truth is all they've got is a _question_."

Jordan, then only fourteen, had looked at him from across the table. "What question?"

Needless to say, Alan Lee never returned to UCLA, and over the following few years, he and Jordan followed the underground hackers' movement, and Jordan took to the art fluently. They derived their screen names from paintings in the church Ghost used to insist she accompany him to every Sunday, though she could never understand how he could be so religious given all they had uncovered.

"Ghost and I were hacking the internet before people even called it the internet," Trinity said, mixing some peanuts into her ice cream. "That led us to the search for the Matrix, for Morpheus… our contacts eventually led us to Kansas City. After my mother died, that's were we went. The rest, I suppose, is history."

"Yes. But that leaves me with one unanswered question."

"Which is?"

"You still didn't tell me how you can afford such a lavish lifestyle."

"Oh." Trinity's lip curled slightly. "Well, back when Ghost and I were looking for answers, our principle contact at Harvard went to a great deal of trouble to hook us up with the hacking community. He was such a nice guy, I bought fifty dollars worth of stocks in his new company as a thank you gesture. I guess the investment grew a little since I've been unplugged."

"What company?"

"Microsoft."

Neo chuckled, and massaged her shoulders. "Incredible. Okay. Now I know _everything_."

"Mmm." She consciously tried to relax, to let his fingers sink into her skin, pushing everything below the surface. Feeling uneasy, "Yeah. Now you know everything."

Trinity let Neo do as he wished with her that night; she didn't have the strength or the will to deny him again. It was awkward, frustrated sex, and although they both tried desperately to make it work, nothing felt the same. For Trinity, the experience was more painful than anything else; she was dry and tense, and Neo knew her well enough to stop.

"I'm sorry, Neo," she whispered.

"No, I am," he said. "I forced this on you. I just… I'm sorry. I'll do anything you want, Trinity. Maybe I should just go… if you want me to leave you alone…"

"Can't you just hold me?"

And so he did. He did every night until Morpheus found them three weeks later on a shabby skeleton of a hovercraft, which he appropriately named _The Lost Cause_. The crew were made of the people who'd built it, Niobe, Ghost, Link and (delighted finally to be serving on a ship) Kid. It was certainly a historic mission. As rumour had it, so excited was Trinity at her imminent freedom that she actually let Neo feed her the red pill – a capsule for dinner, a kiss for desert. But the truth was, by that time she and her celebrated lover were only barely clinging to their sanity, emotionally dead and estranged beyond recognition. Morpheus could see it in their eyes; they'd been plugged in too long.

It took an unusually long time for Trinity and Neo to recover. "I don't know what's wrong," Niobe had said to Morpheus over Trinity's body. She was ghostly white, bald and unconscious on the med-bay table. "Physically, they're fine. But… Morpheus, if I didn't know better, I'd say they've lost the _will_ to live."

"They'll pull through." Morpheus said with absolute certainty. "There are some joys in this world, Captain Niobe, which are worth living for."

"Oh yeah? Which part should they be looking forward to? The religious fanatics who will be asking Neo to turn dirt into water?"

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind and spoke into her neck. "Our baby. They'll be the godparents."

Niobe leaned back against her love's chest and smiled; their rekindled affair was still new then, the baby a shock, conceived on the night the war ended. David was the first child of Peace. "You're right," Niobe whispered back, "a child is worth living for. I'll bet you can't wait to tell them. They'll be thrilled, Morpheus."

Of course, the news affected Neo and Trinity deeply, a bittersweet dagger in the center of two separated hearts, mourning the loss of their own reason to be alive. They couldn't look at Morpheus or Niobe without feeling a pang of envy, a pain for what they would never have. And they couldn't look at each other without wondering what relationship could survive this kind of misery. Indeed, those thirteen weeks in the Matrix nearly killed them, and it was no small secret among those who knew them that the after-effects of that hell came very close to tearing them apart forever.

And then, as the story goes, there was Aurora.

* * *


	19. Chapter 15 pt3

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_**Chapter 15, Part 3**_

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_Genesis, _circa_ 2220. Twenty Years After the War Ended_

* * *

_Synergy_. Try as he may to dismiss the thought, Neo couldn't recall the events of that horrible time in his and Trinity's life without thinking of that striking young woman with eyes like ice sickles and skin like marble. Trinity was sleeping, her head in his lap, she and the rest of the crew bundled in blankets by the fire. The only one awake, Neo poked at the red hot embers with a stick, wondering if, had she decided to answer Kirk's question, what Trinity would have said about those three months in limbo. Nothing about a lost baby. Nothing about the source of his present turmoil. To this day, he'd never told her.

Synergy reminded him of Trinity, a long time ago before they were married. Her voice, her figure, the way she moved and spoke with more confidence than her youth merited. No, Neo decided. Not of Trinity. She reminded him of Aurora.

He'd searched for her for twenty years. Twenty years of not knowing and of never daring to imagine he ever would. But in spite of this apparent hopelessness, his obsession with finding her, the compulsion to look persisted. He'd sit in the Core late at night, skimming the Matrix for a girl of the right age, with a wealthy family; perhaps she'd have siblings, grandparents, aunts and uncles. He'd always imagined she'd look like her mother, a youthful beauty in an aubergine dress, knowing nothing of the war, knowing nothing of the father who loved her, who ached for her despite never having seen her face.

That this beloved child could be the same strong-willed young woman who, over a scone and a cup of Earl Grey, matter-of-factly declared open war against the object of her torment was a chilling possibility. Neo thought of her looking out the window, beautiful, powerful, trapped. Alone. The heavens literally wept for her. And yet she was far from helpless. The telepathic connection with Smith gave him cause for concern, and her escort to the surface had been less than gentle. No, he didn't completely trust her, although he wanted to. He wanted to for reasons he was unable to dismiss, and until he had answers, would persist in affecting his judgement.

Trinity stirred in his arms and Neo turned his head. He'd heard it as well.

"Neo?" she said, voice still heavy with sleep. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure, but I can feel them. Suddenly… tens… hundreds now. Maybe more."

She grabbed her flashlight and did a quick count of her crew. "Sentinels?"

He shook his head, I don't know, looking back at the Neb, cast in shadow. "There. Inside the ship."

Neo took a few steps towards the cargo hold, but Trinity caught him by the arm. "You can't stop that many. Don't go."

The nonsensical prattling in his ears persisted, fluttering, chattering and beating palpations, sounds he'd never heard before, a benign busyness he'd never sensed around the Sentinels. They were all speaking at once; the din was like the hum of a beehive. Rush, hurry, faster, go.

"Take the crew," Neo said.

"What is it?" David asked, pushing blankets off himself and Hawk-Eye, joining Neo and Trinity on his feet. The others were up as well, startled awake by the conversation.

"Is there something out there?" Hawk-Eye said, accepting David's hand to help her off the ground.

"I'm not sure what it is… in the ship. I want you all to stay with Trinity," Neo said, looking at his wife. "I'm going. One of us has to."

"Not alone." It was Knight who said this. "I'll go with you."

"_You stay here_." Trinity glared at him dangerously. "We don't have time for mock heroics." She spoke to Neo. "We need to know what we're up against, but that doesn't mean we have to pick a fight. I'll go and sneak a look, you will stay here and protect the crew if need be. That's the plan. Are we go?"

Neo nodded, and Trinity turned off her flashlight, heading for the ship in the dark, creeping along the ground in stealthy, silent strides.

"We can't let her go in there by herself!" Knight argued to Neo, who shushed him quiet as he guided the crew to the edge of the woods, keeping to the shadows. He didn't like the idea either, but Trinity's plan was the most logical one presented. And it wasn't up to the crew to challenge it.

"Knight, trust her." Neo said quietly. "She can handle it."

The blood-curdling screams from the ship ripped through the darkness, shrill cries so chillingly unlike Trinity's voice that Neo felt his heart freeze in his chest. Then, before he had a chance to stop him, Knight was sprinting towards the cargo hold.

"Trin!" Knight yelled, followed close behind by Neo.

The Captain ran back out the way she entered, stumbling into the clearing, hands in her hair. "Get them off! Get them off me!" she screeched, throwing her sweater over hear head and tossing it to the ground.

"What, what, what!" Neo took his wife by the shoulders.

"Spiders everywhere! Thousands of them! _Tens_ of thousands…" she panted, terror-stricken, hands racing all over her body, shaking uncontrollably. Neo had never seen her like this; she was hysterical, nearly incoherent. "They all… they _jumped_ on me. Crawling all over me… and… webs…!"

"Shhh. It's okay." Neo snatched her hands from the air, noticing a stringy, sticky material covering her fingers. It looked too thick and silver to be a spider's web. In the dark, the substance was faintly luminescent; Neo could see it all over Trinity's face and hair. "Calm down, Trin. I'm here. You're fine. Hawk-Eye? What do you make of this?"

"Some sort of enzymatic biopolymer. Chemically, I'd classify it as a highly conjugated organo-metallic compound," she said, touching the Captain's hands, rubbing the goo between her fingers. "But it's just a guess. I've ever seen anything like it."

Knight shone his flashlight on Trinity's sweater, and as he picked the sticky cotton garment off the ground, a handful of eight-legged insects fell around his feet. Quickly, he snatched one up in his hands. "Gotcha!"

Trinity backed away, drying involuntary tears with trembling hands, humiliated but still too shaken to think clearly.

"It's not a spider," Knight said, uncupping his hands and looking at the creature he'd captured. "It's some sort of… machine."

Neo looked back at the Neb. "Knight, let it go. And come with me."

* * *

The two men carefully entered the ship, shining their flashlights along the walls of the hull, which was covered in silver webs, metallic insects scurrying along the scaffolding. Tiny golden eyes peered at them curiously, scattering away from the light.

"Try not to shine it at them," Neo instructed, listening closely to the chorus of whispers droning around him. The tiny appendages of the machines rattled on the hull and tapped at the floors as they hurried by. "God, no wonder she freaked out," he whispered, imagining his wife stepping into the arachnophobe's chamber of horrors. "It's like a giant hive."

Neo ducked under a net of webs at the cockpit entrance, consciously trying not to touch the walls. "Whoa," he gasped. "Knight, come look."

The control panel was aglow with a myriad of organisms, but not all of them were of the spider variety. Many had wings, paper-thin and nearly transparent, sparkling a tropical spectrum of metallic colours in the beam of their flashlights. Even the air was alive with light, hundreds of individual flight-paths etched through the darkness by violet laser beams. Beetles, butterflies, moths and wasps of every kind swarmed around the indicator bulbs and switches, filtering in and out through the floor grating, attaching themselves to live wires.

Suddenly, the power relay sparked, and though the voltage seemed to kill a few of the mysterious, tiny creatures, others dutifully took their place. "What are they doing?" Knight wondered aloud, supposing perhaps they were attempting to feed off their power cells.

The relay sparked again and the console lit up with flashing green lights. "Communications," Neo said. "They've powered the broadband transmitter."

Knight was back at the operations station. "Sir, I'm reading main power being rerouted through the B-chip. Into Main Bus B and C. 30 terrajoules and rising. 40… 50. What the…? It looks like we have live pads… five? Maybe more. It has to be an instrumentation malfunction."

"Perhaps not," Neo said, confirming Knight's data from the pilot's computer, entertaining the possibility that these little helpers were actually on _their_ side. He thought of Synergy, instincts telling him she had something to do with this. Indeed, the dazzling, iridescent show in the cockpit reminded him of her code, twinkling its perfection in colours he hadn't even known existed, symbols and matrices flowing in an infinitely complex pattern of harmony.

Knight joined him at the radio, moving aside webs to turn some dials. "Permission to place a call, sir?" he asked eagerly, not wanting to waste a moment.

"By all means," Neo replied. "I'm feeling a bit homesick myself."

"This is the Nebuchadnezzar Mark Four calling Central Command," Knight said loudly. "Is anyone there. Over?"

As the sound of static reverberated, Neo reached out and gently caught a bright blue moth between his fingers. Pin-like legs frantically vibrated against his palm, the carbon-coloured exoskeleton glistening in an array of colour not unlike oil spilled on black asphalt. He closed his eyes and tried to listen, half expecting to hear _her_ voice. But there was nothing but white noise.

"This is Zion Central Command. Jesus Christ, it's good to hear from you, Neb!" Link's voice was unmistakable, a warm welcome to Neo as he carefully let the moth go. "Is that Neo? Everyone alright?"

"Yeah, Link," Neo said. "Everyone here is okay. And our status is… on our way home, I think."

"You think?"

"We encountered some trouble but we're making repairs. It's a long story. I'll give you an update when I have one."

"That's good news, Neo. We look forward to it. We lost your signal over twelve hours ago. What is your present location?"

"Hard to say. Navigation is down," Neo said, not revealing any more than he was willing to explain on the air. "We'll try to get underway ASAP."

"Roger that. Oh, Neo. One more thing. I have a very special young lady here who'd like to say hello. Can I put her on?"

Neo and Knight both smiled broadly. _Rorie_. Responding simultaneously with equal enthusiasm, "Yes!"

Neo scowled and looked at the young man questioningly, who had already averted his eyes to the floor. And he should be embarassed, Neo thought. After all, Rorie was not asking to speak with _him_.

"Daddy?" Her greeting was like the sweet wail of a violin. Neo could tell she was barely holding back tears. "It's me. Everyone was so worried. Are you okay? Is Mom okay? I thought… I was scared…" (with a stifled sob) "I was scared I'd lost you, Dad… "

"We're fine. We're on our way back. Soon, I promise. Don't cry, my angel."

"I'm not. I'm not," she lied, pausing to pull herself together. "I just… what happened?"

"It's complicated," Neo felt a rush of excitement for his daughter, imagining her reaction to the real story. "I'll tell you everything when we get home."

"Is Mom there?"

"She's… busy. I don't know if we'll be able to get her near the com." Neo looked around the infested cockpit. "It's… a little crowded in the here with all the repairs."

Knight chuckled at the brilliantly-crafted reply, imagining Trinity's reaction to sharing her ship with such unlikely allies. "Might be a long ride home for her," he mumbled.

"Oh, is that…?" The excited timbre of Rorie's voice chimed over the radio. There was an awkward beat before she rephrased her question. More calmly, "Is Knight there?"

Neo looked at his tactical officer, beaming at the sound of his name, grin wider than a child's on Christmas morning. They could have powered the remaining pads with the electricity in his eyes. Sighing and handing him the com, "Yes, dear. He's here."

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_**a/n: Okay, so that's it for chapter 15 (phew!) pls review!**_

_**- Syd**_

_**PS: next chapter we go back to Synergy**_


	20. Chapter 16

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_**Chapter 16**_

Minutes after the Nebuchadnezzar arrived back in the dock, Synergy collapsed onto the ottoman, steaming cup of hot chocolate in one hand, holding a cold compress to her forehead with the other. Who knew hovercraft required so much energy? Indeed, with such primitive, power-guzzling technology and Zion nearly half a day's journey from the surface, was it any wonder she had a headache? Synergy especially resented the hot showers. As if she were made of energy. She should have let it run cold, just as the blonde haired boy embraced his most beloved parts. Reckless excess in the place of humble gratitude! And she was trying not to be insulted by Trinity's reaction to her gift. Frightening her poor, giving creatures with screams that could have woken the dead, then coming back to the ship waving a plasma gun around (oh, how she loved her guns!). Indeed, it took all Synergy's self control as a well bred lady not to attack the shrew again… this time, with more than just _webs_.

Of all of them, only Neo understood her. Only Neo embraced the fruits of her passion and genius; these children of the future were her eyes and ears, her sole connection to a freedom she could only imagine. And, for a moment, one blue-winged moth was more than that. For a moment, she was connected to his mind, to the rhythm of his heart. For the first time, Neo was open to her. The fleeting instant of their connection was vague, the memory seeping from her mind like an elusive dream. No words. He hadn't said a word. But the emotion was clear, buried deep below the surface, contained in the vault of his secret soul, let out in a hesitant whisper. Chillingly, it was love, the warmth of which prickled through her spine in a magical tingle, a sample of what humanity could give her. A small gift reminding her of what she'd never had.

"Humans are by nature inconsiderate," Smith said. "I wouldn't be surprised if they're all standing before the Council right now, blaming _us_ for the whole thing."

"If the Sentinels hadn't disabled them!" Synergy spat, though shouting only made her voice hoarse. "The last time I trust them to do anything! Useless, warmongering animals."

"I tried to warn you. They weren't programmed for diplomacy."

"And _you_ weren't programmed to get me a blanket, but that's what you're going to do. _Allez-y._ And a pillow."

Smith obediently gave in to her request, hurrying for the items she'd requested. Synergy grinned to herself. Sentinels may not be trainable, but this program certainly was. A loyal ally in a world where her enemies were many. Granted, his constant attention was trying at times, as were his persistent attempts to touch her, feel her body through the clothing she knew he resented. _His Saviour_, that's what he called her. That's what many programs were calling her these days. The humans would too, eventually, if all went according to plan.

From her reclined position, Synergy thought a few two-dimensional boxes into existence, wanting to sort through her first live images from The Last Human City. Window upon window flickered open in the space around her, assembling a distorted vision of the Loading Dock in a puzzle of tiny pieces. The busy, underground cave reminded her of an ant colony, millions of tiny beings scurrying around, just living out their lives, oblivious.

The city was filthy, primitive, crude. And yet for Synergy, Zion was also exotic; it was _real_. If she were freed today, this is where she'd live; this city of one million faces would be her fate. Could she ever hope to integrate into such a community? Would any of them befriend her, accept her, care for her as an equal? Although Smith would argue it was impossible, Synergy knew better. Neo would take care of her, she'd felt it instinctively since they'd first met. As long as she was with him, she'd be safe.

Surely, Neo would return to the Matrix shortly for answers, Synergy thought with a rush of pleasure. She was eager to see him again, to answer his questions, and have him answer hers. She wanted to learn more about humanity, of life in Zion, of his fight against the machines. They would discuss terms, make a plan for the future. It was the beginning of a beautiful partnership.

"The woman will pollute his mind against you," Smith said evenly, handing her a blanket. She leaned forward so he could place a pillow behind her back. "We don't need her. Let me take care of it."

Synergy's head pounded harder. _Trinity_. "She doesn't trust me," Synergy agreed, recalling the details of yesterday's brunch with an uneasy flip on her stomach. _'You conspire with murderers… you have taken my crew hostage,'_ Trinity had said. Her mind was closed, her vision limited. In truth, she was nothing like Neo.

"He listens to her. Ms. Andrews has considerable influence over his judgement," Smith continued casually. "It's a shame. He's practically brainwashed. She is a _threat_, Synergy."

She sipped her hot chocolate and said pensively, "Such a hard, _masculine_ woman. I can't imagine Neo loves her. She isn't nearly beautiful enough for him. For such a great man."

"You're right. She's always held him back, Synergy."

"His mate lacks elegance, perfection, harmony," she said darkly. "Trinity couldn't possibly understand his needs."

"He's poisoned with her."

Synergy considered Smith's statement carefully before deciding, "She will not keep him from me. Not when I'm so close."

Smith smiled wickedly, blue eyes shining like two flames. _You don't have a choice, Synergy. Let me do this for you. The woman's heart on a silver platter…_

"No," Synergy interrupted. "Not yet. If we harm her, I will lose Neo forever. I will deal with Trinity personally… when and if the time comes."

Smith frowned and opened his mouth as if to argue. But he seemed to think better of it at the last moment, sitting next to her on the ottoman. Rubbing her shoulders, "You're as wise as you are beautiful." Placing a small kiss on the back of her head, he whispered, "You will know when the time is right."

Synergy pushed back against the program as if to shrug him away, but the softness of his embrace arrested her resistance. As his fingers gently ran through her hair, the pain from her aching muscles, the tension from her shoulders, the pounding between her temples all melted away. He was like a medical tonic, a miracle drug for her fatigue. She could feel his strength burning through her skin osmotically.

"Yes," she sighed, leaning her head back, encouraging him to continue. "This is what I need."

_I know, _Smith purred, lips on her neck, large hands slipping under her blouse. _I just want to be sure you get what you deserve. My only concern is for you, Synergy. I will not let them hurt you… I will not let Trinity plot against you._

His words crawled through her brain like spiders, his fingers tracing her lace-cupped breasts with a heat that was nearly painful.

_She is jealous of you, Synergy,_ he said. _She's threatened by your connection with her lover. As long as she lives, you will never be freed from this place. She'll see to it._ _She'll see to your eternal imprisonment. Trinity would kill you if she could. _

As his voice boomed through her soul, Synergy held back tears. Why would this woman hate her so? What had she ever done to deserve such treatment? From Trinity, from The Merovingian, from The Machines… all she ever wanted was freedom.

Looking for an answer, Synergy turned to Smith, gazing needily into his eyes. They were aglow with passion, with stolen love, _her_ love, fruited by the seed Neo had planted yesterday. The One's small gift of caring landed on them both like a drop of water in a desert, blooming into an entire oasis of borrowed emotion. They assimilated the template greedily, feeding it, multiplying the sensation into a million double-sided facsimiles of love. It was forbidden and unnatural, this mirage of what neither of them was ever meant to have, of what fate had decided to deny them.

In a fevered fit of rebellion, they took it without apology.

* * *

Draping her body in a black silk kimono, Synergy watched him sleep. Smith was tangled in the mess of blankets on her bed, sweat covering his bare shoulders and neck. He was exhausted, his program drained of the sacred power he'd so willingly given away, grunting, groaning, crying himself into her.

Smith tasted like a battery. His scent lingered in her hair like static electricity. Even as he'd carried her to the bedroom, effortlessly lifting her with the careful enthusiasm of lovers in romance novels and fairy tales, Synergy could sense his emptiness. Her head against his chest, her fingers on his neck, there was no trace of a heartbeat, no essence of a soul. And yet she'd needed him, she'd needed whatever scraps of humanity they could create.

Synergy's heart was racing, hands shaking as she picked her clothes off the floor. She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe; everything was ablur with uncontrollable vibrations. Even her tears flowed in an exaggerated capacity, gushing from her eyes faster than she could dry them. Losing her balance, she clumsily stumbled into a chair, trying to slow her gasps, to contain her body from breaking into a million pieces. In her greed, she'd taken too much. She'd taken more than she was meant to have.

"Synergy?" Smith grumbled huskily. "What's wrong?"

Her blood was boiling with and overflow of neurotransmitters, shock painfully seizing her muscles, her heart, her lungs. She gripped the arms of the chair and squeezed, sweaty palms slipping on the polished wood. "We are damned, Smith," she managed, teeth shattering, her body chilled to the bone with cold perspiration. "You are damned and now you've damned me with you. We shouldn't have done this. This wasn't meant to be… not for us."

He frantically tried to rise, throwing the sheets aside, clawing at the edge of the mattress. "Come here," he said. "Synergy. Come to me."

She squinted over at the struggling program, panting his frustration, eyes wide with desperation as he reached an arm out to her. "Synergy," he begged again. "Please come here."

The pain in her body intensified; her veins felt as if they would burst with the pressure. Frightened, she stumbled over to him, shakily whining her distress as he took her back into a delicate embrace. "What have you done to me?" she cried.

"I'm… I'm sorry," he said, sliding the robe off her shoulders and rubbing her damp skin in an effort to sooth her. "I didn't mean to… I didn't know."

Synergy clung to him, head in the crook of his neck as he rocked her back and forth. Her body responded to his instantly, bonding to him like a magnet, tingling with a warm excitement. She was nauseous with the reminder of their intimacy. "You're a parasite," she whimpered. "Look what you've done to me. I hate you."

The last few words were caught in his mouth as he covered her lips with his own, tasting the acidic bile of her emotion, sucking it in like poison from a snakebite. He caressed her, fed from her, consumed her until the tremors stopped. Synergy's heartbeat slowed, her vision cleared. As a blessed calm passed over her, Smith broke their kiss, turning his face away.

"You're alright now?" he asked, staring at the wall.

"Yes," she replied, so quietly she couldn't even be sure he'd heard her. "Smith?"

"It will not happen again," he said coldly, rising from the bed and retrieving his clothing. Pants on and wrinkled dress shirt unbuttoned, he left her there, shutting the door quietly behind him.

* * *

Smith hadn't been programmed to feel pain, not of this type, the twinge of rejection, the pang of denial. Nor was he designed to support the kind of divine pleasure that still lingered under his skin, tickling his senses like a multitude of tiny, self-perpetuating explosions. This dark angel had condemned him to this slavery of emotion; she was a Pandora of the heart, an infection of his mind.

So be it, thought Smith as he paced back and forth, adjusting his tie and cufflinks. This kind of misery was just another corner of paradise. With her, he was so close to freedom he could taste it. With her, he could feel the code of his program evaporating, leaving nothing behind but an unseeable light, an invisible glow of a higher form of existence. He couldn't lose her. Not to Neo. He would destroy the humans before he'd let them take her.

Synergy may be drawn to the great Neo now, Smith thought; The One had seduced her with his misguided promises of freedom, his pretence of compassion. But the truth was, Neo could never understand Synergy the way he did. His human counterpart was but a temporary reflection, a poor reproduction of his own greatness. In time, Synergy would see that. The trouble was she was young, impressionable, easily led astray. If Smith wasn't watchful, the humans could persuade her into making a terrible mistake.

Smith sat at the piano and read some of the music Synergy had been playing that morning. Bach's _Aria da Capo_ of the Goldberg Variations was a sad, nostalgic reprise of the opening aria, and although this piece was originally intended for the harpsichord, Synergy preferred the piano, playing it after breakfast, sometimes humming the melody as she graced the keyboard with her fingers.

It was only a matter of time before Synergy destroyed Trinity, Smith assured himself, playing the first few bars with cold, mechanical perfection. This system was not big enough for both of them, and Trinity was no match for Synergy's brutal temper. He smiled. Trinity's death would be Neo's undoing; he would crumble into a million pieces, abandoning Synergy in a heartbeat. And then Synergy would see him for what he really was. Fickle. Weak. Unworthy of her.

How predictable humans were for a Program of such insight! Smith continued to play her favourite song, progressing as she often did to Variation number Twenty-Five, what Synergy often called the 'black pearl' of the work. He played through the notes fluently, following the sheet music to the letter, listening carefully for the magic he always heard when she played it.

And then his fingers were no longer his own.

"_Adagio_, Mr. Smith," she said, slowing his tempo, guiding his hands with her mind. "That's much too fast."

Ballerina-like in weightless movement, she proudly floated into the room, shoulders back and chin held high, fresh as a newly-opened orchid. She'd showered and dressed for the evening in a backless red gown, lips painted darker than usual, cheeks flushed with a vibrant splash of rouge.

"The dark passion of this variation make it unquestionably the emotional high point of your performance," she continued, approaching him from behind. Smith could feel her invisible fingers lacing around his, unkindly teasing him with her intimate instruction. "Imagine you are playing a vacuum, a black hole, mercilessly absorbing all earthly joys and heavenly visions," she hissed into his ear. "I know you understand what that means. I _tasted_ it, didn't I, Insipid Program?"

He smiled as the dagger pierced his heart. Wicked, malevolent, _magnificent_ woman. Did she know how he enjoyed her cruelty? Synergy's spite transformed her into a deified reflection of himself. He played on, letting her puppeteer him as she wished, artistically taking liberties with the rests, proceeding to a higher octave in the second repeat. Finally, Synergy let him free, encouraging the program to take the initiative.

"Better," she nodded, eyes closed. "Expressive, depressing, tormented… _almost perfect_. Perhaps you are useful for someth --"

Smith stopped abruptly. "What?"

The ground below them shook. She looked towards the door, eyebrow raised as if to consult a sixth sense. "The game's afoot, Mr. Smith," she said. "Perhaps we should have taken our supper early."

Their uninvited guest burst through the double French doors before Smith could ask for an explanation. She was a tall, elegant woman, smooth brown skin and dark eyes brilliantly contrasting with the layers of red and orange fabric tightly wrapped around her slender body. She had a kind, round face and open features, though now they were contorted into an intense glare of condemnation.

"_Synergy_," the woman greeted her as if naming a plague. Then, as if noticing Smith for the first time, "_You_. I should have known you had something to do with this. How many times must we kill you, Virus?"

"Sati. My, how you've grown." Smith all but sung the sentence. "Have you come to sit at the grownup's table?"

"The only child here is _that_ mistake. _My_ mistake," she replied, pointing at Synergy. "Have you lost your mind? People are dying! I have come here to stop this madness! I was a fool to trust you!"

"They are not my people," Synergy stated matter-of-factly. "I warned the Machines to redistribute their power nodes. They refused to listen. I had no choice but to demonstrate -"

"My _parents_ were at that power station!" Sati interrupted, pacing the length of the room. Smith moved to block her but she pushed him out of the way easily, staring Synergy straight in the eye. "They were friends of your Resistance! You knew that!"

"You're no match for me, Daughter of Love, Programmer of Sunshine and Rain," Synergy said calmly. "You should have joined me when you had the chance. This is _my_ world now."

"I have heard words like this before, but they were not spoken by you." Sati said darkly, turning to Smith. In a movement faster than light, she caught him by the neck and squeezed. "You _snake_. I'm not a defenceless child anymore. Perhaps its time you taste some of your own medicine, as only a _Programmer of Sunshine_ can deliver it."

Sati reached her hand directly into his code, twisting her arm to prolong his suffering. He called out in agony, body twitching as she prepared to scatter his code into a smattering of broken, erroneous symbols. But it wasn't only Smith who was screaming.

Synergy was clutching her chest, face wincing in pain. On instinct, she threw Sati across the room.

Hardly recovering from the shock and confusion of what had just happened, Synergy looked at Smith fiercely. "Go. Get out of here," she said.

He hesitated. "You're hurt."

"Yes, it's turning into a hell of a week for me, isn't it?" she said with uncharacteristic sarcasm. "I'm fine, no thanks to you. Now g_o_."

Smith reluctantly left them, glancing back at Synergy with concern until she blinked the door between them closed, fusing it to the wall in an impenetrable seal.

Sati rose to her feet. "This isn't over. I will not come back alone."

"Perhaps you won't live to come back at all."

"Kill me?" Sati held Synergy's gaze. "I can't imagine even _you_ are capable of such an act. I know you better than that."

Synergy met her in the center of the room. "No. You don't know me at all, sister," she said sadly. "It is disappointing. After all I have done, even _you_ underestimate me."

"Sati?"

The voice came from behind them, an ecstatic greeting from a weary traveller. Kamala set her suitcases down, two long braids tumbling from her cloak as she rushed to embrace her daughter. "I knew it was you," the older woman cried. "It's been so long, but you still have your father's eyes. You're beautiful, my darling… my _bheti_."

"Your mother ran the entire flight of stairs," chuckled Ramachandra, dragging the rest of the luggage across the threshold. "I didn't know she could move that fast!"

"Rama, it's good to see you," Synergy announced warmly, stepping towards the door to welcome the white-bearded man, modestly dressed in a tweed suit with a white cloth handkerchief stuffed in the front pocket. "Your journey was safe?"

"Yes, my dear," he answered, taking her hand in a hasty shake, though he was looking at Sati, tearfully embracing Kamala. "My daughter looks so shocked to see us. Didn't you tell her we were coming?"

"I'm afraid my purges were not as effective as I'd wished," Synergy said apologetically. "The correspondence was intercepted by a band of Agent spies. Nothing is safe these days."

"But _you_ are well," Rama said. "That is what matters. And our operation was a success."

"A great success, and I thank you for that. You took a significant risk in helping me."

"And you in bringing us here," Kamala said, passing Sati to her father. "After twenty years, I thought I'd never see her again."

"Your daughter was kind to me when I needed an ally," Synergy said evenly, catching Sati's eye with cold indifference. "I told her I would not forget the favour, and I didn't. My debt is now repaid."

"Syn," Sati said, reaching out to her. "I apologise. Please, let's not fight. I'm so embarrassed."

The truncated moniker affected her deeply, reminding her of when Sati would whisper it in the cold, dark prisons below the Merovingian's _château_. _"Syn? Are you crying again? It'll be alright, come and sit close to the wall. I'll tell you a story." _

The young Indian woman had been captured by the Frenchman while defending The Oracle from one of his more aggressive tantrums, and for two years she and Synergy communicated in stolen moments of privacy through the thick stone which divided their cells. Through a tiny gap in the wall they shared food rations, exchanged locks of hair, fingers only barely touching when they each reached through the crack. During that time, Sati secretly guided Synergy's steady mastery of her powers, coaching her as they planned their escape from the dungeons.

The day they got out was the last time the two women had spoken, and that was over three years ago. Synergy had left on her mission to find the machine Resistance, begging her only friend to join her in the fight. "I'm sorry, Syn," Sati had said, hugging Synergy warmly, the first embrace of two kindred spirits who'd been inseparable for years. "I have my own journey to which I must return. But perhaps one day, our paths will cross again. Good luck to you, sister."

She'd been abandoned again. And in truth, Synergy had never fully forgiven Sati for leaving her alone, this program with two doting parents, The Oracle's most beloved child. And now, for Sati to beg her forgiveness from the arms of her loving father, the same father she believed her capable of murdering in cold blood? A _mistake_, that's what Sati had called her. Programs were all the same.

"No, I haven't the _time_ to fight with you," Synergy said, accepting Sati's hand with polite reservation. "We have too much to do."

"Power grids three hundred through nine fifty in the alpha district in 01 were disconnected from the fields," Rama said. "They have gone to emergency rations. Friends in the Department of Bioelectric Power tell me they are engineering new links as we speak."

"They will fail," Synergy said. "Yesterday was only a demonstration of what I plan to do. In time they will have no choice but to seek alternative power sources."

"There is already enormous pressure to accept your proposal in the Senate," Kamala said. "But the official position of the government is not to negotiate with terrorists."

"How nice. Is that what I'm being called these days?" Synergy shook her head at the irony and offered her guests a seat. "I suppose I should have expected as much."

"I have to tell you," Rama began unwillingly as he pulled out a chair for his wife. "There have been rumours that they plan to sever your link."

"Ridiculous!" Synergy exclaimed, shocked that the Machines would even consider it. "I'm the only thing holding this pathetic system together. My death would crash everything."

"It is a risk they may be prepared to take," Kamala said. "If there is no other alternative."

"Genesis is their alternative," Synergy affirmed. "They will see that in time. We just have to be strong enough to see it through until then. I will not yield to their empty threats, as so many before me have done. _This_ is where it stops. _This_ is where it ends. No more."

A silence passed among the three guests as Synergy's statement hung heavily. They were past the point of no return. The Machines were on the brink of civil war, and Synergy's life, and the fate of the Matrix hung in the balance.

"Well, enough of this depressing talk of war. Today is for celebrating," Synergy said finally. "I've been saving an excellent bottle of wine for your safe return, Rama. Life is too short to stand on ceremony. Let us embrace the day."

"Of course," he replied with a smile. "This is a joyous occasion. I am here with my wife, my beautiful daughter…" Rama trailed off as he noticed Synergy's attention had been captured by something else.

"Neo, is that you again?" she murmured, quirking her head to the side and frowning, as if trying to process erroneous, conflicting data. There was a disconnected, far-away look in her eyes, and suddenly it was clear that she was no longer in this world but in another, communicating across a barrier none of the others could see. Then, her confusion lifted in a quick flash of recognition.

"Oh, I see," Synergy said, intrigued. "This must be Aurora."

* * *

_**a/n: this endingis a bit perplexing, but the beginning of ch. 17 will clarify it. Suffice it to say,at the moment, somewhere in Zion, Rorie (she's back! i haven't forgotten about her!) is introducing herself to the entomologist's dream collection of insects. Not knowing, of course, that "sister anomaly" is staring straight back at her through the eyes of a blue-winged butterfly...**_

_**- thanks to all those who reviewed my double chpater from last time - please honour me with another if you continue to enjoy this fiction !**_

_**Sydney**_


	21. Chapter 17

**_an: hello, hello, all - we are back and I have produced the Rorie chapter, as promised (reread last 2 sentences from ch. 16 to undersatnd the flow). Now I know we haven't seen alot of her, but that is changing starting here- the rest of the U.C. really becomes HER journey, in life and love. I hope you like it, and that this chpater is not TOO science/biology/biochemistry intensive. But it was important to me to be authentic. Next chapter is Neo and Trin fluff. Anyhow, enjoy, and please do leave me a review - Syd_**

**_

* * *

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**_Chapter 17_**

The daughter of the One carefully held the butterfly on her index finger, watching with delight as the insect crawled from knuckle to nail, scanning the skin ahead of it with dark violet laser beams. The wings were opal blue, delicate membranes which slowly fluttered at her touch. Rorie raised the creature up to her face, and two silver eyes stared back with something like enquiry, long fibre-optic antennae extending as if to touch her. She raised an eyebrow and smiled. _Fascinating_. Eyes shut, the young woman leaned forward, wrinkling her nose as the whisker-like appendages made first contact.

"Should I leave you two alone?"

Knight leaned on the door to the SRP entomology laboratory as he had many times before, watching her with amusement as she tinkered about at her cluttered bench. Microscope, Petri dishes, test tube racks and micropipettes were everywhere, reference books open on nearly every surface. Her messy little secret life, that's what it was. Hidden away in an obscure corner of the university's R&D wing, away from the prying eyes of her father's fame, away from the demanding rigour of her mother's expectations.

"Knight! Uhm… no. We're just friends," she said, putting the insect back in a large Plexiglas container, reuniting it with similar specimens of orange, pink, mauve and yellow. Eyes shining a welcome, Rorie invited him into the room, encouraging him to take his usual seat on the edge of her bench (indeed, it was the only inch of desk space that was consistently kept clear of junk).

"You ran so quickly from the Council General Assembly that I didn't get a chance to give you something," Knight said, though he didn't move from his spot at the door. Looking around the room uncertainly, "But now that I'm here, I'm not so sure _now_ is the right time…"

Rorie noticed his hand was behind his back. "Why not now?"

"Because you're still too excited about everything. If I give it to you now, you're likely to do some crazy experiment on it. Like stick it in a blender and then run the juice through a machine, looking for protein or DNA or a cure for cancer or whatever. That would not be cool, Rorie."

She laughed, becoming more excited by the second. She hadn't been able to think straight for hours; the entire city was abuzz with the news. And she still couldn't believe the SRP was letting her help with the analysis. There were enough samples integrated into the Neb to keep her busy for a lifetime. "I swear I won't run any crazy experiments," Rorie said, not entirely convinced she could keep the promise. "Honour bright."

"You'd say anything to see what's behind my back."

"You're right. Give it to me." She reached for his arm and pulled, but it was no use. He wasn't budging, holding her back with his free hand. Eventually, she gave up and resorted to whining. "Knight! You've seen it all already! It isn't fair. Feel sorry for me."

"Close your eyes."

She eagerly complied, holding out her hands, grabbling with her fingers like a greedy child. But she touched nothing but air as the tip of her nose was tickled by soft, fragrant blades of silk. _"Une fleur de Genesis pour La Fleur de Zion?"_

Dark eyelashes blinked open to take in the exotic offering, the first flower she'd ever seen. It was pure white, spade-shaped petals laced in a reflective, pearl frost. "What…" Rorie gasped with wonder, "What is it?"

"A poor substitute for the bullfrog I wanted to get you. Damn things are _shifty_," he chuckled. "So I stole this gem from his lily pad instead."

"A _lily_." Rorie pronounced the foreign vocabulary pensively, rotating the new discovery in her hand. "If you had brought me a lake sample I could have tried to recreate its native habitat," she said, only half-teasing. "As it is, I could infuse some distilled water with sugars and electrolytes..."

"I should have expected as much from a geek like you." He shook his head at her. "No. No putting it in _infused_ water, no dissection microscope, no autopsy on the poor thing. Its fate is sealed; this one goes in your _hair_, Rorie."

"What? My hair? Why?" Her voice chirped with the raised intonation of sincere bemusement. "I won't be able to see it in my hair…"

"Don't be silly. It's for my viewing pleasure, not yours." Knight took the flower from her and despite her objections, slid the stem into the untidy bun at the nape of her neck. A few rebellious black locks defiantly tumbled onto her crisp lab coat. "_Perfection_."

"Knight, really. This is very cruel of you. If I could just take a quick look under the microscope..."

"I knew this would happen!" he said with mock exasperation, lips betraying a secret, self-congratulatory smirk. He reached behind him, producing another perfect lily from his back pocket, trying unsuccessfully to make it look like a magic trick. "So I brought extra. Geek up this one 'till your heart's content!"

Rorie accepted the second gift with even greater joy than she had the first, with a dazzling smile to him, then a more subdued one to herself, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. Springing up on her toes, the overjoyed young scientist wrapped her arms around his neck, whispering a 'thank you' in his ear. "I'm so glad you're back," she added, voice shaking, unexpectedly overcome with emotion. This time yesterday Rorie had thought she'd never see him again, and now that Knight was back, bringing with him fairy tale like stories of trees, lakes, sunlight and stars, she wasn't sure what she felt. Relief, joy, disbelief, perhaps even fear? But none of it had seemed real, not until _this_ moment, her head on his shoulder, his hand on her back, pressing her gently to his chest, to his heart. He had returned to her, with flowers and butterflies and a future she'd only imagined, with possibilities beyond her ability to appreciate.

When he noticed she was crying, Knight broke the embrace, not asking the obvious question but rather plucking some tissue for her from the box she kept beside her microscope slides.

"I'm sorry," she said, still not looking at him. With an embarrassed chuckle, "I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess I haven't had much sleep the past two days."

"Want me to walk you home?"

"No. I have way too much to do. I don't think I could sleep if I tried." Looking at the containers of insects she'd collected from the ship, "I'd take some of them home with me, but I think Mom's had her fill."

Knight joined her in a laugh at the Captain's expense. "Oh, _yes_. Poor Trin."

"I wish I could have been there, right when she saw them. Did she freak out? Did she scream like a rookie in a sentinel hive?"

"Well…" He hesitated, extending the single syllable as he considered his answer. Diplomatically, "No… she was pretty cool about it, actually."

"Hmm." Rorie slipped on protective glasses and a pair of latex gloves. Selecting a bottle of one-molar sodium hydroxide and a container of solid paraformaldehyde from her shelf, she said curtly, "I don't believe you. I know my Mom. She screamed."

"Sorry. I can neither confirm nor deny it," Knight said. "It's an army thing. That kind of stuff goes in the vault."

"Captain Trinity and her exclusive, macho club of soldiers. I just don't get it."

She placed a glass beaker on her digital mass and measured out 10g of the corrosive white powder, then poured in 50ml of distilled water to produce a 4 percent solution. Tossing in a magnetic stirring bar and putting the beaker on a hot plate under the fume hood, "So, is there anything that she _didn't_ classify about Genesis?"

"I think you two should settle your differences like ladies. Mud wrestling. And don't take it the wrong way if I bet against you."

She grinned as she set the hot plate to medium heat and high stir. "You know, I _have_ beaten her in the kick boxing ring a few times. Hand me the thermometer and a plastic dropper."

"What are you doing?"

"Formalin is used to dehydrate and preserve organic matter. I'm mixing some up for the dead insects we found in the engine core."

"_Preserve_?" Knight asked. "I don't know if you've noticed this… but they're made of _metal_, Rorie."

"To the untrained eye of a computer engineer, yes," she replied, clamping the thermometer onto a pewter stand and lowering it gently into the solution so that only the tip was immersed in the whirlpool. "But after what you would call 'geeking them up,' I made a rather surprising discovery about our little friends."

"Which is?"

"They're not entirely metallic. On the contrary, the internal physiology is actually not so different from the insects I've been studying for years. Except for one striking difference. They don't have a digestive system, no conventional means of metabolizing food. Which made me wonder where they get their energy."

Noting the temperature of her solution was just below boiling, Rorie added four drops of sodium hydroxide with the dropper, raising the pH just enough to allow the paraformaldehyde to dissolve fully. The chemicals stung her eyes, and she blinked back tears as she turned the heat off and activated the fume hood fan. Removing her gloves and glasses, she pointed to her bench. "Knight, grab that lamp on the PCR machine and shine it on the glass box. I want to show you something."

Knight followed her instructions, shining the bright white light onto the insects. They fluttered around and jumped about excitedly, stumbling over one another, apparently competing for an ideal position against the box's surface.

"Whoa. I thought they didn't like direct light."

"I noticed that too, but that's a special lamp we use for visualizing bands on electrophoretic gels. You see, our only way of seeing DNA or protein is to link it to a compound called ethiduim bromide, which will glow upon exposure to photons of a very particular wavelength. That is, about 340 nanometres."

"What's your point?"

"340 is a principle wavelength of solar radiation, specifically UV-A."

"You're saying the bugs are powered by the sun?"

"That was my hypothesis. After all, that's how the original AI's were designed to operate." Rorie turned off the main laboratory lights, leaving them in near darkness. She grabbed her botany textbook and joined him next to the Plexiglas box, "Chemistry came back on the exoskeleton. It's mostly carbon and silicone polymers wrapped around metallic conductors like copper and silver, which had all the engineers really excited, seeing as that's how solar panels used to be constructed."

"Makes sense to me."

"Well, I wasn't entirely convinced. Look how they extend their wings, as if to absorb the light? But the wings are only about ten percent metal. The rest is actually made up of multicoloured _pigments_. Now, that gave me an idea." Rorie opened her textbook to a flagged chapter titled _Photosynthesis_. "Long ago, plants absorbed solar energy through colourful organic pigments like chlorophylls and carotenoids. Electrochemically, this was much more efficient than any man-made, or _machine_-made solar converter."

"So these are photosynthetic bugs?"

"No, they're definitely electrical. I think these insects have the best of all worlds. They capture light with organic pigments, then convert the chemical energy into electricity, hence your polysilicone shell, which extends into the wings like wires. In essence, they're machine-insect-plant hybrids, with all the different components working in synergy."

"_Synergy_?" Knight repeated the word she'd used, thinking of the mystery woman Neo had encountered in the Matrix.

"Yeah. The interaction of two or more components so that their combined effect is greater than the sum of the parts."

As Rorie delivered her vocabulary lesson, Knight realized with some surprise that her parents hadn't told her the specifics of their mission. They were probably still tied up in Council meetings, he thought, noting that it had been nearly five hours since the Neb's crew had delivered their original report in a private briefing. Naturally, they'd been sworn to secrecy regarding some of the details, including Smith and his connection with Synergy.

"These insects are potentially the most effective energy converters ever built," Rorie continued. "If we could extend these principles onto a larger scale, it could revolutionize the field of electrical engineering. Ironically, this might be right up Mom's ally, if she could screw up enough nerve to come take a look."

Suddenly, the laboratory lights flickered on, and Rorie scrambled to her feet. "Dr. Baines," she greeted the tall, grey-haired man with nervous formality. He had serious, unpleasant features, and was well-dressed in the latest business-man's fashion.

"Rorie. How's your research going?" he asked, looking at Knight with a frown. "Engineering tells me you have… _quite_ a theory."

She faltered, turning off the UV lamp and straightening her lab coat before replying, "It remains to be proved, but I think we may be looking at a biochemical means of collecting photonic energy."

"Yes, that's uhm… what they told me," the older man said. "Many of them were highly sceptical, to say the least. But I was quick to remind those stuffy old PhD's that young investigators like you give a… well, a hip, creative flavour to the project. How refreshing that not all of us are jaded by years of experience or the proper schooling. I mean, who knows? Perhaps one day, some of your ideas will even inspire a serious area of research."

Rorie's mouth opened, but no sound came out at first. Then, remembering herself, "Thank you, sir. I appreciate your support."

"Well, don't work too hard. Leave some discoveries for the rest of us, right?" he said with a condescending smile. "I'm sure your father is eager to see you. Tell him Malcolm says hello. Oh, and rest assured, as long as I'm administrator of the SRP, your kind of input will not fall on deaf ears."

Rorie nodded, heart sinking as the city's most respected terraforming expert dismissed her with a thumbs-up and a goodnight, heading down the hall to confer with the _real_ scientists.

"Who was that?" Knight asked as Rorie sank down onto a stool, cheeks red with a crimson mixture of embarrassment, disappointment and anger.

"Dr. Malcolm G Baines. He's chief consult to the Council on the terraforming projects," she answered absently, becoming more devastated by the second as her mind frenetically analyzed the brief conversation. The engineers were _sceptical_ _to say the least_? She contributed a _hip_ flavour? Yes, thank God she didn't have any real scientific training to weigh her _creativity_ down. How else could she dream up such riveting science-fiction? Tell your _father_ '_Malcolm'_ says hello…

"He doesn't take me seriously."

"I'm sorry, Rorie. But who cares what he thinks?"

"Knight, everybody in the academic world cares what he thinks." She shook her head at her own stupidity. When he'd come through the door, she'd actually thought he was coming to hear a detailed explanation of her findings. Perhaps even complement her insight. How naïve! That the head of the SRP would choose _today_ to take an interest in her research.

"He's afraid for his job," Rorie concluded. "After today's news, I'll bet all the project leaders are scrambling over themselves for his position. It'll be a political bloodbath. Suddenly, Neo's daughter is important."

"Rorie…" Knight put a hand on her shoulder but she moved away.

"No. I don't need to be comforted. I'm used to this." She snapped her latex gloves back on and opened the four-degree Celsius fridge, finding the bottle of super concentrated phosphate-buffered saline she'd mixed the day before. Using a graduated cylinder to measure 63ml of the buffered salt solution, she said, "Don't think I don't know that the only reason I even got this far without formal training is because of Dad. He probably saw to it that I got to process these samples from the Neb as well."

She bent to examine the meniscus at eye-level. Satisfied her measurement was accurate, Rorie emptied the PBS into the cooled paraformaldehyde solution to complete synthesis of her fixative. "I may not have earned my way _in_, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to earn my way _up_. Nobody knows more about insect biology than I do."

"I know."

"I'm not wrong about this," she continued, using a magnetic wand to remove the stir-bar and rinsing the chemicals off in the sink. Rorie then snatched a funnel from the cupboard and transferred the formalin from the beaker into a glass bottle. "Wherever this… _Genesis_ came from… these insects are the key. They aren't cybernetic life forms that evolved to live in a carbon-based ecosystem. Somebody built them, and put a great deal of effort into doing it. With a purpose."

She labelled the bottle _'paraform. in 4XPBS,'_ with the date and her initials, all the while speaking more to herself than she was to Knight. "Nobody is going to patronize me into self-pity. If he'd taken the time to _talk_ to me a few times at all those posh cocktail receptions, he'd know better." Rorie cleared some space on her bench and lined up a handful of small plastic bottles. Using a suction pipette, she began to measure a small amount of formalin into each container. "Go home and tell Daddy I say hi." She scoffed. "I'm nobody's messenger in this city."

Knight watched her silently, observing her uncompromising technique as she tweezered a dead insect into each of her sample solutions, recording every action in her notebook. Finally, he asked, "You want me to go?"

"What?" She spun about, alarmed. "No. Why? I mean, you can. If you want. It's late, isn't it?" She checked her watch for the first time in hours. "You must be tired after everything. I'm sorry. I was so busy railing against the world, I didn't think of you."

He chuckled. "And can I get you some more caffeine pills?"

"Don't judge me," she said, not even trying to deny how wired she was. "And don't feel you have to stay. It'll be boring for you. Just me… being me."

Knight hopped up onto his usual spot on her bench and made himself comfortable. "I'm not that tired," he lied. "Maybe I'll stay for half an hour or so."

Rorie smiled. Somehow, she knew he wouldn't leave. She picked up her lily, turned on the microscope and said, "So. Tell me about the… uhm, '_frogs,'_ was it? I want to hear everything."

To tell her everything would have taken a lifetime, though Knight managed to cram a great deal into the rest of the evening. Bullfrogs, silver birches, sunshine and starlight, not a single detail was omitted as he vividly described the most noteworthy mental images, all of which he'd committed to memory with Rorie in mind. That is, Knight remembered everything in the context of how he'd describe it to her later, just like this, sitting between the centrifuge and a large box of cryo-freeze tubes, shelves of God-knows what chemicals stacked above his head. And although he delighted in telling the story, in every nod, chuckle, and comically animated facial expression he inspired in his one-person audience, Knight wanted more than anything to show her what he'd seen, to give her the experience of being there. Rorie would never know it, but not a minute had passed on the surface when he hadn't wished for her company, and none of the adventure meant a thing until he shared it with the one person who mattered above all others.

It had always been Rorie. The daughter of humanity's most esteemed couple, free-born Zionist royalty. Her beauty had inspired poetry, sculptures, paintings; entire symphonies had been composed in her honour. But these things were nothing to her, to this student of life who preferred lab coats to ball gowns and goggles to tiaras, and in truth, she appeared equally regal in either fashion. It was in her manner, her posture, the way she spoke her mind with neither artifice nor evasion; Rorie had the attributes of a true leader, weather she accepted this responsibility or not. Wherever she went, people looked at her, whispered and pointed. In her social group, the handsome sons of politicians, judges, and Councillors competed for her favour. Her life was a novelist's fantastic invention, the noble, unattainable princess of mankind's last civilization.

What fairy godmother had brought a common grease monkey like him to her castle's doorstep? Knight smirked as he considered Trinity in such a role. The woman who frightened away Rorie's suitors, who never allowed her daughter out past ten without an acceptable chaperone (and the only escorts she trusted were David and Knight, in that order). How many times had Trinity made him promise to keep a watchful eye on her dance partners? Indeed, the mother's confidence was not misplaced; when it came to Rorie, Knight and Trinity had always been on the same page. Slide that hand one inch lower, buddy, and die.

Nobody else knew Rorie the way he did; over the years she'd never let anyone else in this deep. Her research was her soul, her workbooks more precious than diaries; when they spoke here, laboratory door closed, fume hood fan on to drown out their whispers, she held nothing back. And although Knight had never understood why she'd chosen _him_ as her most trusted confidante, he wouldn't have it any other way. Rorie was his best friend and his best kept secret; he valued their intimacy as a daily gift, he always had.

But never more so than tonight. Something had changed. Tonight, everything felt different. She was glowing, beaming, effervescing with a contagious elation that pulled him in and swept him up. As exhausted as Knight was, he could listen to her snap, crackle and pop scientific jargon all night, it was music. And every time their eyes met, her deep, pure brown swallowing his gold-flecked hazel, Knight felt part of his mind evaporate. She was beautiful. And there was nothing more beautiful, more enchanting, than her happiness.

It was past midnight before he noticed the time, realizing that half an hour had become almost five and a half, and he still wasn't tired of watching her. The way she walked, the way she _moved_, feminine curves below fresh white fabric, the sway of her hips, the curve of her breast. But Knight quickly admonished the fantasy. What would Rorie think if she caught him gawking at her so? And yet he couldn't help himself. In a hidden corner of his soul, it seemed almost sinful not to look, not to adore her for everything she had become.

"If I were you, I'd hope Mom doesn't find out."

"What?" Knight's heart froze, all colour draining from his face. Mind gone blank, he stuttered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to!"

She quirked an eyebrow in puzzlement. "Knight, I said, weren't you supposed to do the ship damage report for her tonight? She'd kill you if she found out you'd spent the night here."

Knight lifted a hand to his forehead. His brow was covered in sweat. "Yeah. Oh, I forgot."

"What would you do without me?" she asked, casually resting a hand on his knee and squeezing. "I'm going up to do another collection in about ten minutes. We'll go together."

Their contact nearly sent him falling off the bench as an involuntary pulse of electricity raced through his body, depolarizing every neuron from knee, to thigh, to groin. Oh, _God_. He had to get out. He needed to sleep this off. "No, it's late. I'll do it in the morning," Knight stammered, looking everywhere but at her. "I'm really tired. At least, I think that's what it is. _Exhaustion_."

She must have thought he'd gone crazy, spewing apologies and bidding her a hasty goodnight, forgoing their customary kiss on the cheek for an awkward handshake. A _handshake_? But he'd panicked, stupidly faking a yawn as she tried to lean in for the embrace. How horrible that he couldn't even look at her, that he was left to imagine her reaction as the elevator carried him home, as he repeatedly knocked his head against the aluminium-plated doors. Of course, Zion was exploding with celebration, parties seizing almost every level of the city, but he hardly noticed it. On this, the night of mankind's biggest party, he could think of nothing but Rorie. And by the time the lift chimed his arrival at level 514, he was smiling again. In spite of everything, all he could be was a hazy, brain-dead happy.

"Hey, Pretty Boy! Curly Sue! Isn't this your stop?" The question was asked by a man his age, holding two bottles of Moonshine, already drunk out of his mind.

Knight hesitated, rationalizing that with all the noise and music, he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. "No, sorry," he said, letting the elevator doors close on him. He took a deep breath to clear his mind and slow his racing pulse, and without fully understanding his own behaviour (or caring to analyze it), Knight pushed the button marked 'Level 3-Loading Dock.'

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	22. Chapter 18

_**a/n: I'd like to again all of you who continue to review this story every time I update - A. Bunny, R. Reeves, L. Stranger, Shatteredimage, Zinck, Phia... (eyes of sky, Fezzes, Chiarastorm, Aurinko, LiMiYa: I hope you're still with me!) you're all wonderful for supporting me. Also, a rather unenthusiastic thank you to my 100th reviewer, AtmoicMerovingian... whom I hesitate to admit is my brother - he has actually played an active role in helping me shape this undersexed plot. (He's a fifteen year old boy, though, so what can I expect!). This chapter, I hope, makes up for it - as we get all little hot 'n heavy with Neo and Trin. As promised, ladies and gentlemen, the fluff:**_

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_**Chapter 18**_

"Urrraahhgggg!" Trinity let out a euphoric growl as she turned the key and burst through the door to their upper-level apartment, lugging two heavy duffle-bags behind her, dragging rather than carrying them over the threshold. Neo had two of his own balanced on his shoulders, and in a futile attempt to help his wife, he kicked at the butt of her luggage as she pulled.

"Oh, yes, they're much lighter now," she chuckled, biting her lower lip and giving the bags one last heave into the dark foyer. Dropping the straps and raising her arms in victory, "That's it. We are officially home! Time, Neo?"

He checked his watch. "Oh, it only took twelve hours. You know, I think we have time to go back for another round-table caucus. Maybe get The Oracle on speakerphone this time."

Trinity had been untying her boots, but when Neo said this she began to laugh so hard she couldn't continue. He stared with amazement as she hugged herself, doubled over, body shaking uncontrollably. Then Trinity slumped to the floor, head dropping between her knees. "The Oracle on speaker… oh, God," she managed, face red, gasping for air between outbursts. "I was ready to _shoot_ myself… Neo… and then, then when you fell asleep… I had to kick you under… under the table… you had no idea… Jason Lock was so offended…! His _face_, Neo! You should have _seen_… oh… "

Neo grinned as his wife cackled and snorted at her own jokes, tears in the corners of her eyes, chest probably aching from the spasms seizing her diaphragm. Sometimes, she still managed to surprise him. He raised an eyebrow and stepped over her, flicking on the lights and sighing. "You are exhausted, Captain Trinity," he said, stating the obvious as he looked around their blessed domestic haven. It was warm, tidy, and meticulously organized in his wife's uncompromising style, everything exactly as they'd left it, everything as it should be. And God be praised, not a single insect in sight.

They'd moved into this larger two-bedroom loft shortly after marrying, only a few months before Rorie was born, and Neo was surprised by how quickly Trinity had transformed it into a home. Of course, they'd been showered with gifts for the baby, and nothing but the softest, hand-woven fabrics went in the nursery. But Trinity had been just as particular about the rest of the rooms, decorating in cozy neutrals, matching the furniture and rugs to the earthen walls, using colourful candles and unusual Zionist art to give the loft a mixed, eclectic feel. She'd done an exquisite job, and Neo loved coming home to it more every day as it was cluttered with family photographs, Rorie's artwork and other memorabilia of what had been a very happy eighteen years.

"Can I get you a drink?" Neo asked, glancing over his shoulder at his wife, who was back on her feet, yanking off her boots with great effort. She was still giggling to herself. "Something to calm you down a bit? My love?"

She looked up at him, apparently in reaction to his choice of words. "Meet me in the shower with a bottle of scotch," she said evenly.

Neo held her eyes to measure how serious she was. Sex, alcohol, and a hot shower, enjoyed simultaneously; he recalled their old home-coming ritual with pleasant nostalgia. They used to call it 'the instant cure for shell shock,' and from what he remembered, it worked marvellously. "We haven't done that in years, though," he replied.

"Speak for yourself, lover." Trinity wrapped her arms around his neck from behind and smiled into his shoulder. "I drink alone in the shower all the time. Marriage to The One will do that to you."

She was being silly, but it was so late and they'd been through so much that he didn't blame her. She was past the point of combat fatigue, past the requirements of post traumatic stress syndrome. And he wasn't far behind. "Go get started," he said, nudging her towards the bedroom. "I'm coming. Whatever you want tonight."

Neo watched with a mixture of amusement and affection as she walked backwards through the living room, maintaining eye contact as she lifted her sweater and undershirt over her head. Nearly tripping over a chair on her way, she tossed the clothing on the floor, showing off a navy blue bra which matched the generous collection the bruises over her ribcage.

"You should ice those," he said, taking the phone off the hook and checking for messages. The machine flashed 99. He turned it off.

"Did you ice yours?" she hollered back from their bedroom. "And don't lie because I'm about to do a thorough inspection…"

"Uh-oh. Trin."

"No, I moved the scotch to the _glass_ cabinet."

"It's not that." Neo spotted another pile of luggage, pushed out of the way into a corner. Lowering his voice, "We might not be alone. I think our family defector has decided to move back in."

"What?" Trinity hurried back into the living room, tying a robe around her waist. She beamed true joy when he pointed to the bags, hurrying over to Rorie's room, pressing her ear against the metal door and knocking softly. "Sweetheart?" she announced her presence before taking a peek inside.

"She's not there." Neo said the words before she could, holding up a note he'd found on the dining room table. "_Dear Mom and Dad, working late at the lab. Don't wait up. Love, Rorie. P.S. Mom, I left Pyro with David. Thought you could use a vacation._ Exclamation point, heart."

Trinity took the letter from him, smiling as she read it over to herself silently. "She really is wonderful, isn't she, Neo?" she whispered thoughtfully. "Our Rorie?"

"Mmm." Neo hummed his agreement, loving the sound of his wife's voice when she said '_our Rorie_.' He took Trinity in his arms and kissed the top of her head. "You know she's going to want to go," he murmured, interlacing their fingers.

"Yeah." She answered with a sad acceptance that told him she'd already come to the same decision he had. "I know."

"After Defence establishes a reasonable military presence and secures the area, the SRP will send their first wave of researchers." He summarized the decision that had taken over a hundred people four extended debating periods to reach. "I'll speak with Baines to get her a good posting. Yes?"

Trinity nodded, leaning into him as he rubbed her back, her shoulders, her neck. "I've never seen her so happy," she said. "Just her face when you told her, Neo. A child on Christmas morning. It was like that day we took her to the gemstone caves for the first time. Remember that? She was nine. Maybe ten?"

"Nine. Yes, I remember. I remember because you saved her life that day."

"That's an exaggeration."

Neo scoffed his disagreement, turning her face up to his and gazing into crystal blue eyes, as pure and perfect as the sparkling stones which had come crashing down round their daughter that day. Despite his repeated warnings not to touch the walls, Rorie had snuck off to pry a few tanzanite samples from the rock base, hitting a hidden fault-line with her pick. It seemed she'd only been out of their sight for a moment, only a second before Trinity said to herself, "something's wrong," as the ground began to tremble. He'd never seen Trinity move so fast as she darted around a bend in the tunnel, somehow knowing exactly where Rorie had gone. Micro fissures cracked like lightening bolts through the rock and she snatched their daughter from the cave wall, covering her tiny body with her own just as chunks of stone collapsed on top of them. And although Rorie had come out of it relatively unscathed, Trinity was in bad shape.

"What was it, Trin? A collapsed lung, three broken ribs and a shattered collarbone? And the concussion."

She shrugged. "I don't even know."

"Rorie could tell you," Neo said. "She was so upset. She wouldn't leave the hospital until you were alright."

Trinity laughed wearily. "Uh-huh, so I had to fake being alright. Which she didn't buy."

"So she stayed with you. Rorie didn't move until she fell asleep in her chair, her head on your hospital bed. I carried her home." Neo completed the memory with a sigh that was something like relief. "But you were more than Rorie's hero that day, Trin. You were _mine_. If it hadn't been for you…"

"Oh, don't say it. Please." She touched his face, soft fingertips over rough stubble, from earlobe, to jaw, to chin. "I don't want to think of it. She's okay _tonight_. She's safe. No more talk of… anything. I can't anymore."

"Alright." Neo slid his hands over the soft, thin fabric of her robe. She had nothing on underneath, and as she moved closer, melting into him to fill every space which separated their two bodies, Neo felt himself begin to relax for the first time in days. They kissed, her hand still on his cheek, cradling him, subtly guiding their intensity, encouraging him to linger awhile before taking her. She loved for him to do that, to go slowly, to tease her with the idea of love. To whisper his intentions in her ear while gently cupping her beasts, while tracing a flight path around her curves, only briefly hovering over the most sensitive places. And as Neo thought of just how well he knew this woman, how in tune he was with her desires, her needs, her whims, he found himself all the more aroused.

How strange that when they first met, it was the mystery of Trinity that had attracted him, the enigmatic allure of the unknown. Even in the heat of their spectacular affair, Trinity had always been secretive, and it had taken him years to discover her fully. "Tell me your fantasies," he'd say as their limbs tangled together, her hands in his hair. "Just one, Trinity. Tell me _one_." And sometimes, if he was lucky, she actually did. Playful confessions spoken softly in the dark, moaned in his ear, panted against his lips. And yet it was the chase, the pursuit of this intimacy which used to drive him wild.

But now, as the world outside spun out of his control, all Neo wanted was the comfort of the familiar, to make love to his best friend, to know every step to their dance and perform it flawlessly. Trinity was his anchor, and as Rorie steadily drifted away from him, the wind sitting in the shoulder of her sail, his wife held him close, understanding his loss as nobody else possibly could.

"Never mind the scotch," Trinity said against his lips. "How about a nice wine? We'll set it out to breathe while we shower."

He couldn't help but smirk at how her tastes had changed, all the while adoring her for it. "I suppose you want me to shave as well, my Queen?"

"Uhm…" She smiled as she debated her preference, brushing her nose and lips over his two days' growth, marking her travels with a trail of feather light pecks. She worked her way to his ear and said huskily, "No. Keep it. Just… be gentle with me, lover."

Such masterful seduction! With those last five words, every coherent thought diffused from his brain, remnants of syllables dissolved on his tongue. In one fluid motion, he swept her off the ground and into his arms, laughing with her as she giggled and screeched her surprise, attacking his neck with kisses. He carried her through the kitchen and held her next to the wine rack, telling her to pick her bottle, taking jabs at her indecision when she took time to read the labels.

He tapped his foot with mock impatience. "You're heavy, you know."

"How romantic! I'm heavy! You're just getting weak in your old age, Neo!"

"Yeah? Oh, I'll be gentle all right..."

Neo tossed his wife onto their bed, throwing her with more force than was necessary, pretending to be angry, but smiling with his eyes. He discarded his clothing as she uncorked the 2198 synthetic fermentation, taking a graceless swig from the bottle before leaving it on the nightstand and following him into the master bathroom. The shower was pure heaven, though as Trinity sandwiched him against the cool tile, taking him firmly, confidently in her hands, she commented that she'd much prefer another dip in the lake. And while Neo disagreed, hot water beating down on his head, warmth tingling through his body at her expert touch, he couldn't help the feeling that he was under some sort of spell. That whatever magic they'd encountered on the surface was still lingering between them, be it pixie dust or a witch's potion, activating them both with its power.

It must be the magic of hope, Neo decided after Trinity had fallen asleep, her hair still damp from the shower and tangled from their lovemaking. He brushed a few errant strands from her face as he finished the final few drops of wine, thinking of the last time he was this tired and elated at once. Unquestionably, it was the first few months after Rorie was born. She wouldn't sleep through the night, Neo remembered, and he and Trinity were wont to pace back and forth through the living room for hours, trying to soothe her. Finally, after what seemed like weeks without any sleep, Trinity had looked at him one night and said, "Okay. I've got a bit of a crazy idea."

Trinity had wrapped Rorie in a royal blue blanket, placed her in a covered basket, Moses style, and snuck her up to the Loading Dock at half past midnight. They'd used the freight elevator to avoid being seen. Back then, the Neb was only a skeleton of a ship, though Trinity had just supervised the installation of the engine core and a dozen new pads. "Consider this the first _real_ test of this ship's metal," she'd said, fingers crossed as she flicked the naked switches in the cockpit. And the minute the ship began to hum, vibrations tickling their toes as the Neb hovered off the workpad, Rorie stopped crying. "Ah, I must have built a good one," Trinity concluded proudly, stretching into the Captain's chair, baby already asleep in her arms. "This is a good omen." Within a few minutes, Trinity was also asleep, and thought he knew they couldn't stay all night, Neo didn't have the heart to wake her. The image of mother and child, snuggled together in the half-built cockpit was too precious to disturb. New ship, new baby, a new purpose. It was the happiest time of his life.

And although it was premature to be so hopeful, Neo felt the same glow of optimism when he thought about Genesis. Indeed, it was impossible for anyone to experience such transcendent beauty and not be inspired to dream beyond the prudent frontiers of sensibility. The entire crew was intoxicated with thoughts of repopulating the surface, of life beyond Zion. And despite the obvious concerns regarding their relations with 01, and indeed, an understanding with the machine Resistance itself, Neo couldn't help but feel an uncharacteristic flutter below his ribcage. He wasn't wrong about this; they were going to make it work.

And Synergy, the lupine beauty with eyes the colour of granite, was the key to everything. Not just to Genesis, but to _him_. She was lapping at his toes like an ocean's tide on a hot summer day; her waters were deep, black and icy, and though he couldn't see the bottom, Neo had already decided to take the plunge. Everything about her called out to him, and not a moment had passed in Genesis when he hadn't felt her presence, her voice in the wind, her frigid gaze resting on his shoulders in moonbeams. How could one who lives in such wonders be corrupted by a mere program, a shell of such greatness? Neo refused to believe it. Synergy was stronger than that. His daughter would be stronger than that.

He caught himself. What proof did he have of her parentage? Nothing but a feeling, an instinct he'd suppressed until the reality became undeniable. He'd known it since the moment he saw her, reading the anomalous product of his and Trinity's code with poised disbelief, with concealed awe. And now that he was ready to accept the truth, Neo could see clearly that what the machines had taken as a symbol of peace had become the unrelenting object of their downfall. And if Synergy was true to her word, she would destroy everything to claim the freedom she was owed. The freedom he'd been instrumental in denying her.

But the hope for redemption eclipsed his self-loathing as Neo silently vowed to make her cause his own. He would get her out. He would not abandon her again.

"Neo?" Trinity shifted in her sleep, casually sliding a leg between his, her head on his shoulder. "Are you awake?"

"Mmm." He cupped the back of her head.

"Can't sleep?"

As her fingers danced over his naked chest, Neo had to consciously fight the impulse to tell her everything. He'd always promised himself he would, if he ever found their daughter, if he ever got her back. And while Neo knew it would hurt Trinity, he'd submit to her judgement, he'd trust her to forgive him, even if he'd never forgiven himself. He knew her well enough. Somehow, Trinity would find a way to pull them all together.

But now was not the time, Neo realized, reality sinking in. Synergy's future was still too precarious; she left too many unanswered questions. He'd waited for twenty years; now was not the time to rush things. If they could all hold on just a little longer…

"Neo? Is everything alright?"

"Not yet," he said softly, resolutely. "But it will be, Trin. I promise."

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	23. Chapter 19

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**_a/n: Thank you all for the nice response to the Neo and Trinity fluff. I warn you, that is the last of the Neo Trin fluff for a while... you see, another womanis about to cause some "trouble in paradise" (we all know who ... Freud wouldeat this up with a bent spoon). Now then,thisis a mother/ daughter chapter. And I must say, up until this point, this is myabsolute favourite chapter. So if you're one of those who reads and doesn't review (grr), if you are EVER going to post a review - let it be for this one. It is special to me… I hope you all enjoy (readers and reviewers alike!) - Syd_**

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_**Chapter 19**_

Rorie glanced at her watch. It was past three-thirty in the morning, and despite her diligent efforts and those of a talented SRP crew, they'd only catalogued close to half of the insets found in the Neb. So far, they'd found over five hundred, and from what Rorie could tell, no two were exactly alike. Even the machinery showed signs of variability, tiny designs imprinted in the metal, only visible to the scientists using the scanning electron microscope. Luckily, she had a few friends in materials chemistry who emailed her some stills. They looked like fingerprints, Rorie thought, hardly paying attention to what she was doing as her hand automatically slipped her key into the lock and lifted the magnetic security card to the reader. She opened the front door to her home and turned on the lights, placing a binder and clipboard onto the kitchen table with a note that read, '_To the High Priestess: Here's the damage report. All of it. Don't shoot the messenger! Your humble servant always, Mr. Knight K. Knightly of Knight&Knight Inc. PS: Rorie helped a little, too.'_

Rorie grinned and shook her head at the spider's webs he'd doodled around the corners of the page. Her mother wouldn't think it was funny, but Knight had said that if he was going to stay up all night manoeuvring through the goo on the hull, Trin could endure a picture of it on her stationary. Indeed, the sticky, luminescent polymer found throughout the ship was all over him by the time they'd finished, and Rorie had spent a good twenty minutes trying to pick it out of his ample hair.

Incidentally, after speaking to Hawk-Eye about her analysis of the compound, the two of them had come to the conclusion that 'spider's webs' was an inaccurate description of the elaborate patters hanging from the walls. Functionally, it was much more likely that the insects used them for navigation, mapping their surroundings with complex, light-emitting shapes which served as homing-beacons.

What didn't make any sense was why they would have collectively powered her parent's hovercraft. Such cooperation would have required a communal consciousness. Perhaps they communicated using radio waves, or some other wireless information sharing protocol. But that was method. What concerned Rorie most was _motive_. She did not believe for a moment that these insects were simply good Samaritans. Something had directed them.

"Rorie?"

Trinity was dressed in a long navy-blue robe, standing in the doorway of the master bedroom. She ran a hand through her hair and suppressed a yawn as she squinted into the light.

"Mom!" Rorie's face lit up. She hadn't seen her mother since the ship docked. "I'm so glad you're up. What did the Council decide? I have so many questions about the-"

"Shhh!" Trinity hushed her as she closed the bedroom door behind her. "Your father's sleeping. Finally."

"Sorry," Rorie whispered loudly. "Did I wake you when I came in?"

Trinity didn't answer the question verbally, she just narrowed her eyes. "This is way past curfew."

Rorie smiled as her mother joined her in the kitchen. "I know, but… you're not mad. Not even _you_ could be mad tonight."

"Not _even_ me?" Trinity smiled and wrapped her arms around her daughter, and they hugged for a long time before she said, "No, I'm not mad. There can be no doubt what you were up to."

"Clubbing!"

Trinity chuckled. "Ironically, I'll bet you were the only one _not_ at the clubs tonight."

"Oh, trust me. The biggest party is at the lab. I've never seen everyone so into it, and we're not even close to being finished. I came home to get some of my old samples from my room. I want to compare them with the new insects we found in the core."

"At four in the morning?"

"Well… yes. Just for a little while."

She endured the silence as her mother examined her, scrutinizing her tired features, the slight caffeine-induced tremor in her hands, the fluorescent gobs clinging to her work clothes. Then, "What's that in your hair?"

"Oh. It's… a lily. Knight gave it to me." Rorie reached up and touched the flower's delicate petals and couldn't help but smile, but she forced the grin from her face as quickly as it had appeared. She felt foolish for taking such joy in this small gift, especially in light of everything they had discovered. How silly that she had been casually brushing her fingers against the silky folds all evening, imagining Knight wading through the water to claim it, flattered that he'd thought of her.

Rorie's heart fluttered but she willed the arrhythmia away, knowing that she was being overly emotional. It was the insomnia, the surreal excitement of the news that was to blame for the impropriety of her feeling. Perhaps she should try to get some rest.

"Rorie?" Her mother was looking at her with a penetrating, knowing gaze that collapsed her self-control and made her want to burst into tears, and she didn't know why.

"_What_?" she blurted defensively, raising her hands to burning cheeks, realizing that she was being irrational, but she couldn't help it. "Mom, don't look at me like that. Please."

"I'm sorry." Trinity turned away, and Rorie heard her sigh. "Rorie… oh, Aurora." Again, a sigh. Then she said unexpectedly, "Did you have supper?"

"Huh?" Rorie blinked back her tears, breathing deeply and focussing her mind, wanting reclaim herself from whatever spell had come over her. She was embarrassed and confused, but something in her mother's tenor told her not to be. Trinity's expression was that of maternal concern for her erratic eating habits, nothing more. Rorie resolved with self-conscious relief that she must have imagined the suggestive gleam in her eyes. Like everything else, it was all in her mind. "No… I skipped supper," she replied, pleased to hear the casual tone in her own voice, revealing none of the internal tempest that still moved her.

"So let me make you something."

"No, I really… I have to get back."

"Aurora." Trinity touched her hand softly, but her voice was even with the tone she'd always used to indicate parental authority. "I'm still your mother. You can either get to bed now, or you can eat, and then go to bed. Your team won't benefit from the input of an exhausted bug expert."

Rorie smiled. It was the first time her mother had ever acknowledged her as part of the SRP, or as an entomologist for that matter (even if she couldn't bring herself to say _entomologist_). "I am a little hungry."

"So what meal are you at? Breakfast, dinner? I'm not sure what qualifies at this point."

"You'll make me anything?" Rorie asked. "Anything I want?"

"What? Niobe doesn't take requests? Or does this eager intonation in your voice mean you've been missing my cooking?"

Although the question was posed in a light hearted manner, the reminder of their recent quarrelling was heartfelt. They'd both said some horrible things to each other, Rorie remembered with a pang of regret. "I'm sorry about that," she said quietly, choosing her words carefully to indicate her apology was for their argument, not her decision to apply to the army. "I behaved badly. And I shouldn't have moved out. It was a childish way to deal with our disagreement."

"Mmm." Her mother's semi-syllable was unreadable, signifying that she had not decided how to proceed. Rorie knew her well enough not to be intimidated by the stoic response, but rather to wait patiently for her to continue. Finally, Trinity said, "You didn't tell me what you wanted to eat."

It wasn't a change in subject. She could tell her mother was about to discuss something important, and had probably just mapped out the next ten minutes of their conversation in her mind (her father called her the 'grand chess master of verbal communication'). Rorie knew her fate was already decided, and the only variable left was what her mother would cook. "Chutney," Rorie said, making the first move with a bold, confident choice of dish. "_Spicy_ chutney."

"Okay then." Trinity found the found the wok and dripped in some oil and diluted acetic acid, manipulating the pan to cover the entire surface. She set it down on the stove to heat and handed Rorie the chopping block. "But you're slicing the nuts."

Rorie wasn't surprised by the condition. She always chopped the nuts; her parents had implemented it like a punishment ever since she'd smugly criticised her father's mincing technique when she was twelve. Silently accepting the consequences of her actions, Rorie found the tin of nigella and fennel seeds, combining them with a mixture of large ghee nuts on the plastic slab. These were scarce commodities in Zion, and it was far more likely for families to use flavoured protein cubes in the place of the real thing. Her parents were fortunate to have friends in the Department of Food and Agriculture who periodically made gifts of the best crops.

Even the exotic combination herbs her mother used were uncommon. Most people didn't even know asafoetida and curry existed, and if they did, they probably had tasted neither. These delicacies were the rare successes of genetic experiments with remnants of plant DNA, celebrated privately and circulated around to Zion's most well to do as if they were illicit drugs, given as bribery for political favours, or simply as a way to show off. Nobody else knew it, but Rorie was wont to sneak handfuls of the gifts into their monthly donations to the Orphans, hoping to relieve some of her guilt when enjoying them later. And as she spooned the chunks of nuts and seeds on top of the sizzling mushrooms her mother had just added to the wok, Rorie prayed that Genesis would change everything. Not just the way people ate, but the way people _thought_. Their hierarchical society was too set in its ways, too jaded and pedantic. These days, Rorie questioned weather Zionist freedom was overrated. At least in the Matrix, people were driven to question authority, to fight for something better, be it all an illusion or not.

"Your father and I also brought something for you." Trinity said, measuring out a tablespoon of paprika and piperidine crystals that Hawk-Eye synthesized on the sly. "Check the fridge."

Rorie opened the small plastic box below the counter, stacked to the top with mushrooms and fresh alfalfa, and noticed a plastic bag with two plump, red balls in it. "What's this?"

"They're strawberries. We also found raspberries and some other wild fruits, which are being run through Tox. But those are fine. Try one."

Rorie picked the larger of the two, and rather than taking a bite, opted to put the entire thing in her mouth without a moment's hesitation. She nearly choked with surprise. "Oh my _God_," she groaned between bites, "That's amazing."

"That was my reaction... more or less." Trinity grinned and shook the pan to toss the ingredients once. She added a pinch of salt and a splash of liqueur. "Better than in the Matrix."

"You sent some to the lab, right?"

"That's what the other one is for. Don't tell your Dad I gave it to you to dissect. He wanted to save it."

"Thanks. But I can't promise I won't eat it myself."

"Oh, I think I know you better."

"You're right. I just wanted to be normal. Just for _once_."

"Don't aspire to be anything less than you are, Aurora."

Rorie rolled her eyes at the adage her mother had ingrained into her since childhood. "You're using my full name a lot tonight," she said.

"I guess I am. It suits you. The full name." Trinity took a fork from the top drawer and stabbed at the sizzling mixture. She blew on a sliced mushroom and said pensively, "You look older to me tonight. Something's different."

Rorie knew she wasn't just musing. Her mother did not muse, at least aloud. She was going somewhere, and wishing she'd get to it, Rorie said impatiently, "Well, _there's Genesis..._"

"Mmm. Try this. I know you like it crispy."

Knowing Trinity was teasing her, she groaned and took the fork, nearly burning her tongue in her haste to move their conversation forward. "It's _fine_," she said before even chewing it. Then, realizing she'd spoken too soon, "No. Well, maybe a few minutes more."

Trinity grinned as if the admission were a personal victory. But then she began without preamble, "We've analyzed our sensor data from the Sentinel attack to derive our flight path. Our entry point into Genesis is located in the North American continent, just above the forty-fifth parallel."

"Canada?"

"What was formerly known as Canada over a century ago, yes. Specifically, we're looking at southern Québec, just above of the Island of Montréal."

"You're kidding."

"Are you going to listen? Or am I going to hear all the jokes from you that I heard from your father?"

Rorie wiped the smirk off her face. "No."

"Geographically, the choice of location would seem to make some sense. It's as far as possible from the Machine City, and Canada was largely ignored as a tactical target during the nuclear holocaust. Pollution would be at a minimum, and Québec is known to have the highest percentage of clean freshwater lakes in North America."

"But it's _cold_. I mean, we'd always assumed vegetation would first appear near the equator. Maybe Central America. Or Columbia or something."

"I don't know what to tell you. The climatologists are stumped as well. Tomorrow the army is sending a few scouting vessels to check the sewers and do a full analysis of Sentinel activity. Your father and I will be going with Niobe and Morpheus on the _Logos_ to supervise." She turned the stove off and placed the pan on a ceramic hot pad on the counter. Trinity then indicated for her daughter to dig in. "You want something to drink with this?"

"Sparkling water."

Trinity pulled two bottles of carbonated mineral water from the fridge and set out some flatbread. "But the truth is we're not going just to supervise. We're going to jack back in."

"Why?" Rorie asked as they both ate from the large wok.

"This is classified," her mother specified, continuing without pause as they made eye-contact. "We've encountered Smith."

Rorie caught her breath, and for a moment she couldn't believe her mother was talking about the legendary Program turned Virus who had blinded her father and then assimilated him in 01. The demon who had tried to kill her mother more times than Morpheus could recall. The faceless monster from her childhood nightmares. But Rorie could tell from Trinity's expression that they she was talking about _the_ Agent Smith. She swallowed her fear and attempted to look unaffected.

"Rorie," Trinity continued, touching her arm gently. "He killed Elisa and Indira. He nearly killed Ghost. But he let him go so he could summon us."

"That's why you left early? Dad didn't tell me…"

"No. And I wouldn't be telling you now if it weren't important. He was a messenger for a woman who claims to be in control of the machine Resistance movement. She claims to have control of their armies, and she also claims responsibility for the existence of Genesis. In fact, the apt designation comes from her."

"But why would a Program-"

"She isn't. She's human. Your father is certain of it. She calls herself _Synergy_."

The name evoked an eerie meaning for her, reminding her of the insects she'd been studying. "She created Genesis? From inside the Matrix?"

Her mother didn't respond at first. "She's very… unique. This woman… this young woman. She's very much like your father."

"She can feel the machines, manipulate the code?"

Trinity again seemed to consider her answer cautiously, as if not wanting to admit what she was thinking. But she lowered her voice, and continued, "Yes, she's very powerful, much more powerful than anything we've encountered. It's our belief that she's in control of the Matrix, blocking administrative control protocols and deleting machine peacekeepers. My hypothesis is she's holding the system hostage to prevent the Machines from unplugging her. It's probably the only thing keeping her alive right now. But…" she ran a hand through her messed hair, and Rorie could tell that what she was about to say went beyond what she revealed to the Council. "There's something about her. It isn't just her ability to push the code. She _reminds_ me of your father… I don't…"

When Trinity abruptly broke off and absently scooped some juice and diced nuts onto her flatbread, Rorie tried to decide what to say. Her mother had never been this earnest with her before; it was as if she'd come home having made the decision to speak to her as an adult, as an equal for the first time. And now that she was being accorded the privilege she thought she'd never earn, Rorie was at a loss for words. "Do you trust her?" she asked finally, deciding that above all else, this was the critical question.

"No," Trinity answered without hesitation. "Although I believe her desire to end this war is sincere, I know she's hiding something. But it's… _more_ than that…" she spoke under her breath, as if forgetting Rorie was there, "God, I haven't felt this way since we unplugged Neo. Maybe she's the Seventh. Maybe that's it. She seems to have Smith eating from the palm of her hand, the Sentinels follow her instructions, more or less…"

"She directed the insects."

Trinity looked up at her, nodding. "I believe so."

"So what does she _want_?"

"I think she wants out. And she believes eliminating the Matrix is the only way to make that happen. A new peace with the Machines entailing the freedom of every man, woman and child. But I can't imagine how she'd convince them to shut it down… at the very most, they'll kill her and reboot."

"Mom, the insects are _solar_ powered. They feed off the sun and store enormous amounts of energy in power cells wired into their abdomens. You have to take a look at it. You'd probably be able to decipher the mechanics better than I could. What if she wants to establish solar energy as the basis for life in 01? They wouldn't _need_ us anymore."

"They'd _never_… Rorie, the Machines would never give up the crops."

"Even if they were presented with a far more efficient means of producing and strong power?"

"They'd continue to enslave us out of spite. You don't understand how they think, how determined they are…"

Rorie sighed at her mother's limited view of their mechanical oppressors. It was a characteristic of all pod-borns, and although she couldn't blame them, it made progressive discussion difficult. "What if not all of them thought that way? Or what if… what if Synergy and her renegade army were holding Genesis ransom until the machines accepted her terms?"

Trinity reflected for a few moments. Quietly, darkly, "She doesn't know who she's dealing with. She thinks she does, but she doesn't. Genesis could be a very dangerous place to be, Rorie."

Her heart sank. But before her mother could tell her she couldn't join the project, Rorie had to speak her thoughts. She'd never felt so strongly about anything in her life. "I know it's _dangerous_. But… Mom, isn't it worth it? How can the price of this discovery be too high? Look, I can't fight for this city in the Matrix. I can't earn my place in Zion the way you do, the way Dad does. And yet they look up to me. The _worship_ me on simple faith. They call me their Saviour. And although I know I can never live up to that… well, this is what I can do. The people deserve change. I want to help make that happen for them. And for me."

Her mother listened to every word with the impassive expression of one who had already made up her mind. "If all goes well, the SRP should be sending research teams up by the end of the week," she said. "Your Dad and I would endorse your application to join them. If you want, I'll tell Neo to speak to Malcolm Baines."

Rorie was hugging her mother before she finished the sentence, trying to hold back tears, hardly believing what she'd just heard. "You mean it?"

"No. I was joking. You're not going anywhere. Ever."

Rorie chuckled and hugged her tighter. "I love you."

"I know." Trinity pulled back and cupped Rorie's face in her hands, wiping the bottoms of her eyes with her fingertips. "I'm proud of you, Rorie. You know that, don't you? I really am."

Rorie only answered by crying some more, unable to express what that meant to her. Her mother wasn't given to communicating her feelings often. And as much as Rorie always knew that she was the pride of both her parents, to hear the words said made her go to pieces. It was all she'd ever striven for, her mother's esteem above all else. Her whole life, that was the unattainable goal. And ever since she'd taken up the study of biology and chemistry at the expense of her engineering projects, she'd felt as if she'd let Trinity down. That her unconventional passion was her mother's secret shame.

"I want you to promise me something before you go," Trinity said once Rorie had dried her eyes on her sweater. She held her at arm's length and spoke with a gravity that commanded her attention. "No matter what you encounter… on the surface, on a mission, or in _life_. Whatever you do, I want you to follow your heart,_ always_. This," she pressed her hand to Rorie's chest, and for a moment it looked as if her mother might cry as well. But Trinity held it in, keeping her eyes locked on her daughter's, voice soft, calm and even. "_This_ is the most precious gift you have. It has guided you this far. To success, to your passion, to your purpose. _Trust it._ Use it as a compass above all other things. And give it only to one who deserves it, to the one who knows what a treasure you are, who would give you his heart in return without a moment's hesitation."

Rorie's pulse quickened as the thought of Knight teased her senses, and this time she let him linger awhile in her consciousness, almost hoping he could be the one. The truth was, ever since she was ten, he'd been the handsome older boy, four years her senior, charismatic and rebellious, the object of many of the other girls' affections. She hated it when they flirted with him, and even more when he flirted back. She'd wanted him for herself always, but it had never been in a romantic sense. He was her best friend, the one she'd decided to trust in a world of users and gossips, people who would betray her confidence in a moment for the chance to tell a good story (she'd learned this lesson the hard way). But immediately, Rorie had sensed that he wasn't like all the others; he was too genuine, too completely _himself_ to be insincere. And her mother, her most admired role model, trusted him. This, above everything else, was what had allowed Rorie to let her guard down. She had never once regretted that decision, and now she couldn't imagine a day without him.

And although she'd admitted it to no one, once she'd been old enough to dream of romance, to imagine dating, kissing and lovemaking, Rorie had always toyed with the idea of its being Knight. That one day, a long time in the future, if she ever did fall in love, it would be with him. She couldn't think of being comfortable enough to explore such intimate feelings with anyone else. And then, two days ago when the Neb had gone missing… Rorie couldn't remember it without feeling nauseous. To lose her parents, to lose David was to lose her entire life, everyone who'd ever loved her was gone, her entire past had been erased. But _Knight_. To lose Knight felt different. To lose him was like losing her future.

"But how do I know? How do I know that I'm not just…" Rorie hardly noticed she'd said it out loud, only barely whispering the question she'd asked herself more than once since seeing him again. If she was wrong, she'd lose him forever. It frightened her to change a friendship as perfect as theirs, to risk it because of a fleeting flutter of her heart, a momentary lapse in control.

Trinity lifted the amber bound beetle off her chest, studying the talisman before saying quietly, "You're willing to risk your life for this. For the chance to see Genesis, you'd give everything?"

"Yes," she said, not hesitating in her answer, although the idea scared her.

"So when you find someone as important to you, as precious as _this_ is… you'll know. And you'll see it in his eyes. That he'd give anything and everything for you, too."

A chill seized her body as the danger of what lay ahead began to sink in. Rorie had always considered herself a brave person, but suddenly, she was facing the future without a safety net. What she'd always wanted, freedom, independence, was hers to take, and for the first time, she realized that the adventure of life came at a price. And as her fingers folded into her fists like sticks of ice, blood running cold, she understood her mother's trepidation to let her go. Suddenly, it was all so real.

"I promise," Rorie said, curling her hands up in the ends of her sleeves. "And tell Dad not to say anything to Dr. Baines. I'll go to his office. I'll get the position on my own. I've earned it."

"Alright. My Only." Trinity said, nodding her approval. "And you're okay? Will you be able to sleep?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"I'm getting up at nine. Want me to wake you?"

Rorie smiled. Her mother hadn't woken her up since she'd adopted Pyro, and she missed it. Her soft hand on her face, lips on her forehead as she whispered promises of breakfast… "Yeah. Nine."

She offered to clear the dishes but her mother wouldn't hear of it, so Rorie thanked her for the midnight snack, and then thanked her again 'for everything,' hoping she knew what her advice and blessing meant to her. In truth, she'd never felt so close to her mother. Although they loved each other very much, Rorie never thought she really understood her. But tonight, everything Trinity had said made perfect sense, as if she already knew exactly what she was thinking, what she was going through.

Is this how her mother had felt as she watched Thomas Anderson on the Matrix feed over twenty years ago, Rorie wondered? She thought of the way her parents often gazed at each other, of how sometimes, when her mother wasn't looking, her father would watch her from across a room, the expression in his eyes unmistakable. He worshipped her. None of it went unnoticed, the way they laughed together at things that weren't funny, the way they kissed and touched, mistakenly under the impression they were alone. Rorie had happened upon them at countless inopportune moments, always reacting with a disgusted expression and a quick turn of her head. But the truth was it gave her comfort her to know that they were so in love, that the two most important people in her life were always taken care of, that they were happy. Rorie wondered if Knight could ever look at her with such adulation, if he could ever need her as her parents needed each other.

Rorie stared at herself in the mirror as she untied her hair and slipped into a long ivory lace nightgown, bunching the fabric in her hands and pulling it tightly around her curves in scrutiny. She was slender and dainty, but much too short for her liking. And she wished herself less pale, the pallor of her skin contrasting radically with the long tresses of jet black hair which tumbled to her waist. It was not in fashion to be so white, and most girls her age frequented tanning boutiques (being a scientist, however, Rorie knew better). Perhaps if she were a little curvier, she thought, she'd look more mature, more feminine. With more voluptuous hips and a fuller breast…

_Do not aspire to be anything less than you are. _

She let the fabric of her nightclothes hang loose as her mother's voice echoed in her thoughts. No, Rorie didn't wish herself any different; she was not so insecure as to compare her physical appearance to Zionist ideals of beauty. Still, as she climbed into bed and examined the wilted lily Knight had slipped into her bun that afternoon, Rorie wondered if _he_ thought she was beautiful. Of course, he'd told her as much many times, always complimenting her when they went out, telling her she was the envy of every other girl in the room, teasing her by claiming she was torturing all the boys with her unattainable charms. But she'd never tortured _him_. He'd never looked at her with anything like desire; he'd never touched her as if he wanted something more.

She felt an involuntary flush as she realized that she wanted him to. She wanted him to touch her, if only to know what it would be like. Her hand on her chest, over her stomach, tentatively teasing the delicate places between her thighs, she wondered what his lips would feel like against hers. But she stopped herself short of fulfillment, not willing to surrender her body to the fantasy. She cried, wishing herself indifferent, fearing he'd think less of her if he discovered her secret, knowing nothing would ever be the same between them.

But it wasn't long before her sobs subsided and sleep granted her sanctuary, all thoughts of him dissolving behind the veil of her unconscious. She didn't notice as the flower she still held slipped from her fingers onto the pillow beside her, or that two golden-winged beetles fluttered through the darkness as she slept, circling her, landing on her hair, her arms, scanning her body curiously with thin beams of light. They crawled around the lily, resting on the petals, and dipped in and out of the centre, playing a game of chase between the filaments.

It was only when Rorie shifted in her sleep, revealing the amber orb around her neck that the insects ceased their fun and took notice. They buzzed about in an excited fury, knocking against the submerged beetle, scanning the object repeatedly as if to be sure of its authenticity. Data stored in their memory chips, the pair faltered for a moment, and then in a frenzy, they zoomed from the room, escaping under her bedroom door, leaving a brief trail of light behind them.

And as Rorie turned again in bed, the base of her neck and collarbone glowed with a complex pattern of fluorescent green markers, a message written in a language no human had ever spoken.

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	24. Chapter 20

**_a/n: So this is just what I said... a "mixed bag" Trin POV chapter - I have to say, I'm not completely happy with it, though I do like the Trin/Knight moment at the end. I don't know. No amount of editing seems to save it. Anyhow, let me know what you all think - next chapter is much more fun, a Rorie/ Knight background chapter, giving us some context for their relationship. Enjoy - Syd_****_

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**_Chapter 20_**

Trinity didn't go back to bed that night. Instead, she did the dishes and made herself some tea, which she drank leaning against the kitchen counter, staring at her daughter's bedroom door, wondering about her. Or perhaps Trinity was wondering how she could have missed it, the change, the moment Rorie grew up, chose a career, and fell in love with her best friend. And she was deeply in love. Trinity could tell, because she knew the eyes well enough. They were Neo, those first few weeks together on the Neb, innocent, passionate, bewildered and strong. But mostly in love, shining with a veiled joy and hope that Trinity had come to adore as the secret part of him that belonged to her exclusively. And if Knight was anything like her, he was captivated with this mysterious sparkle without even knowing what it was, without even supposing it could be because of him.

Trinity should have seen it coming. Their friendship had always been close, as if they'd grown up together, rather than coming from completely different worlds, different realities, different _centuries_. "So, you're like a princess, eh?" Knight had asked Rorie not long after arriving in Zion. She didn't respond to this question well, probably taking it more as an accusation than anything else, having grown used to being teased for her celebrity. But Knight was unaffected by her defensive attitude. "I understand fame," he'd said. "You know, I won the junior dog sledding competition three years in a row. As a prize, I got free beaver tails at McKibbin's corner gas for a week. Needless to say, _someone_ was very popular in the schoolyard. Just don't let it go to your head, that's all."

Trinity remembered she'd had to bite her lip to keep from laughing, mostly becuase she knew for a fact that Knight had never been dogsledding a day in his life. Of course, the joke was lost on Rorie, who had just stared at him, annoyed, or perplexed, and then looked at her mother as if to ask for a translation. But Knight won her over in short order, although _how_ he'd done it Trinity will never know, having rarely seen a free-born child connect so strongly with a newly-liberated orphan. They spoke in two separate vocabularies, but explained themselves with remarkable sensitivity to the other's background, and soon Rorie knew as much about ice fishing as she did about geothermic energy, and spoke quite a bit of French, too. And to this day Knight knew more about Zionist history and culture than Trinity did, and more about salt crystals and sewer bugs than she imagined he wanted to. Neo had been secretly grateful to him, as he had been replaced as Rorie's preferred pupil, and no longer had to endure her lectures on the intricacies of insect biochemistry. "He actually seems _interested_," Neo had commented with a chuckle, watching Knight help their daughter catalogue yet another collection of fire flies. "God bless the little trouble maker for _that_."

In retrospect, Trinity wondered if it had all been an excuse to be close to Rorie, or maybe Knight just couldn't bear to disappoint her. Whatever the reason, Knight listened to her drone on for hours, often lightly making fun of her passion for the work, but never enough to dissuade her from continuing. And then he'd make her laugh. Trinity rarely heard the jokes (and sometimes had a sneaking suspicion that they were at her expense), but people two levels down could probably hear the laughter. No, Trinity should not be surprised that Rorie loved him, or that the Oracle would compare that love with her connection with Neo, because she could see now that they'd always needed each other in a way that nobody else could understand, and that was the _point_. That was the essence of true love, the devotion without apparent reason, the unquestioning approval of the other, without caring to analyze the _wherefore_. It just _was_, and that was enough. It had always been enough for them.

Trinity remembered how it used to be with her and Neo. Back when every day was the day before the apocalypse, and every night they died in each other's arms, exhausted and demolished by the struggle. They didn't talk of the future back then, they didn't think beyond the moment, because neither of them expected to live long enough for it to matter. It was an unspoken understanding. There wasn't enough time, and the only thing powerful enough to bring comfort was love, an intense, raw, joyous release of everything into the other. It was simple, and in spite of everything, she was happy. It was enough.

They had both changed a great deal since then. Rorie had changed them, the end of the war had changed them, marriage had changed them. It was a different kind of union, one which they both welcomed and wanted for their family, and built together with diligence and commitment. It was never boring or routine, as some people may think, and Trinity felt no less passion for him now than she did before, but the relationship was undeniably complicated. Even as he'd made love to her that night, both of them clinging to the other to weather the storm of the past few days, Trinity could tell Neo was never completely free of it; she couldn't pull him loose as she once had. Part of him remained beyond her reach.

He'd whispered Synergy's name in his sleep, a frown worrying his brow as he tossed and turned beside her. _Synergy_. It sounded like a prayer, like desperation, like yearning. And the name cut through Trinity as the memory of a dead colleague arrests the heart and constricts the soul. Something wasn't right, was all Trinity could think. None of it made sense to her. Synergy didn't make sense to her.

"She could be a trap set by the Machines to start a war. Give them an excuse to start digging."

"They lure us to Club Med and then attack it with a million Sentinels? Unlikely. Why go to the trouble?"

"She's The Seventh, then? Another Neo."

"Why haven't they killed her?"

"She's got them by the balls."

"She's got us by the balls, too. If she has that many Sentinels at her disposal, she could destroy this city in a heartbeat."

"Sentinels following the orders of a human. Like hell."

"We should try to pinpoint her position. She could be even more powerful if we get her out."

"Yeah, and she'd be less of a risk as well."

Trinity and Neo had listened to the conjecture for hours, neither of them offering much beyond the official report of what happened, cautious to keep their personal feelings remote from the scrutiny of a hugely bureaucratic government and military panel. They were united in their recommendation that they pursue more information before deciding on a strategy, and that was it, though Trinity knew that behind her husband's perfectly composed expression of professional objectivity, his mind and heart were racing.

"To control one's own movement in the Matrix is one thing," Morpheus had said pensively after Trinity briefed him in his office before the official inquiry began. "But to throw a man across a room without touching him… to arrest your body in midair... and you said Neo could hear her thoughts? It is unheard of, Trinity, especially of a mind that hasn't been disconnected from the System yet. I cannot begin to postulate what this could mean. It's completely unprecedented."

If only that were true, Trinity could go back to bed. But there was a gnawing sensation at the back of her mind, a memory that she couldn't ignore or rationalize away. The truth was she knew what it was to manipulate the code without contact, to push remote programs across the grid with ease, to speak to Neo without words, and to touch him without lifting a finger. Synergy couldn't have realized it, but her power was not unique, and Trinity knew it very well. But not because it was once hers. No, this brand of magic had belonged to Rorie.

She and Neo had never told the Council, or anyone else for that matter, knowing full well that to disclose this truth would just encourage speculation about the baby, and people had already gotten out of control. So they were content to keep it their secret, their little joy, a dusting of magic blessing their marriage and unborn child. In the privacy of their home training unit, Trinity would dazzle her bemused husband by balancing objects in space, lifting his feet from the ground, and whispering in his ear with a voice beyond sound, a holy echo from her body to his. She saw his code for the first time in three dimensions, in its entirety, a waterfall of golden lines shining against a dull green background.

"You're beautiful," she'd said, touching her hand to pure light, to soft flesh. "It's like I'm seeing you for the first time. I never really knew…"

And he'd kissed her, fingers lacing with hers over the round bump that was their Rorie, his other hand brushing gilded feathers though her hair. Trinity held him then, wrapping his body in a soft blanket of energy, caressing him with the intangible essence of their daughter that she felt constantly, and wanted to share. She wanted to give him some part of that gift. It was effortless, as if the baby wanted it, too, resonating towards Neo like a magnet, reaching towards him with invisible hands. Neo cried, and his tears fell on her face and on the baby, a baptism of love that bound the three of them together in the glow of a gift that lasted only a few months. For when Rorie was born it was gone and irrecoverable, a lost potential that neither parent mourned. Rorie was brought into the world completely free, with long black hair and perfect skin, without the metallic marks of the Machine which riddled her parent's bodies. Anything she could have done for the Resistance in the Matrix was irrelevant; she was wholly human, and this was the most liberating legacy of all.

But what Rorie had lost by birth into freedom, Synergy had preserved in bondage, and it was this inexplicable power that had Trinity's heart reeling. She remembered how Synergy had looked at Neo, resting her eyes on him, though him, around him, worshipping his code as Trinity had done long ago. The young woman had been mesmerized, and had found it difficult to look away, sneaking additional peeks whenever she could, sometimes openly staring. Trinity didn't have to wonder what she was looking at; she knew. She also knew that theirs was a mutual recognition, Neo had gazed back, without attempting to hide his interest, brown eyes open and alert, focused on nothing but Synergy, as if the universe had converged on her. As if the answers to every question he'd ever had rested behind those cold, impenetrable eyes. They were like two pieces of the same puzzle that didn't quite fit together, something was missing, leaving them both floundering, searching, unsatisfied.

Neo didn't know what to say. He had retreated within himself, leaving Trinity to wonder what he was feeling, what he'd seen in Synergy that was so captivating. A kindred spirit? Another lost soul like him who called out for rescue? A sister anomaly? Trinity couldn't be sure, but she suspected Neo felt a solidarity with their enigmatic new ally which went beyond what one would suspect from such a short first meeting. He wanted to believe her, to help her, and more than anything else, he wanted to get her out.

They would run a trace, but Trinity wasn't hopeful, and feared that in order to separate her from the Matrix, they would have to take on the entire Machine army. If the Source didn't sever her link first. Perhaps Smith was offering some help toward this end, having once infected the System and blocked administrative control commands to keep himself from being deleted, though Trinity didn't trust him a wit. Synergy had made her first mistake and it was very possible that he would be her last.

At half past five in the morning, there was a soft knock on the door that Trinity recognized.

When she saw him, Trinity could tell that Knight hadn't slept all night, either, because he looked about ready to collapse from fatigue. "Any room at the inn, good shepherdess?" he asked. "My roommate's party is still… uhm… a little loud."

She moved aside to let him though. "You can sleep for a few hours on the couch."

"The floor, the couch, in the bathtub… whatever," he chuckled, chucking off his boots and collapsing into his usual loveseat in the living room. It was not the first time Knight's roommate had driven him to her doorstep. At least, that was the excuse he often gave. '_His roommate_.' But Trinity knew that most of the time, he wandered back to her when he wanted one of three things. Food, clean clothes, or advice. This time, she suspected it was the latter.

As if on cue, Knight threw an arm over his face. "Trin… give me another red pill. I need a reality check."

She returned from the closet with a blanket and a sheet, and expertly whipped the covers over him. "You're going to be alright, soldier."

He closed his eyes, and for a moment Trinity thought he'd fallen asleep, but then he mumbled, "I don't know. I think I've gone crazy. Like… _all_ the way over the edge. You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

Trinity bent down to brushed curls from his forehead. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you for breakfast, hm?"

He opened his eyes, and they were tried, but alive, like a child's at bedtime. They reminded her of Rorie, when she was younger. "God, it's strange, Trin," he whispered. "Twenty two years old, and my entire life is in this apartment. Nothing else matters to me, you know? This is it. It's like… home to me."

"Might as well be," she said back. "The amount of time you crash in my living room. I'm going to start docking your pay for rent."

He chuckled at the empty threat which had become her customary 'good night,' and Trinity left one of the kitchen lights on for him, knowing he didn't like to sleep in complete darkness. The truth was she loved Knight like a son, and it was moments like these that she remembered why. In every way except the biological, he really was.

With both her kids home and safe, Trinity felt strangely fulfilled as she climbed back into bed with her husband, and his body automatically entwined with hers when he sensed her there, pulling her into a warm pocket against his chest. She slept well and without dreaming, waking instinctively at three minutes to nine so she could shut off the alarm before it woke Neo. She decided to let him sleep a little while longer, and drowsily wandered into the living room, freezing when she noticed Rorie was already up and dressed, hurriedly gathering her things.

"I'm sorry I can't stay," she was saying, though she hadn't noticed her mother. She was talking to Knight. "I have so much, uhm… to do, you know. And… well, you know."

Rorie wasn't looking at him as she stuttered, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. She seldom stuttered. Knight took a few steps towards her, but then stopped awkwardly. And he was seldom awkward. "Rorie," he began. "I'm sorry if I…"

"I'll see you, right?" she announced, cutting him off as she headed for the front door. "Later. Good luck today. Write me if you can. Uhm… so, bye."

And then she was gone, leaving Knight with a forlorn expression on his face. He cursed under his breath before he noticed Trinity was there. "Oh, g'morning Trin," he said, trying unsuccessfully to hide embarrassment. "Rorie… had to work."

"I heard. Are you staying?"

He ran a hand through his hair and looked around. "I don't know. I don't know anything anymore…" Then he seemed to realize who he was talking to. "I mean, yeah, of course. Thank you. Sorry, Trin."

So she started on breakfast, mixing flavour into some protein supplement and heating it on the stove. She made him some extra strong coffee. "Tar?" she said as she handed him the mug of black liquid.

"_Merci_."

"_De rien."_

They drank in silence for a long time before he sighed and said, "So, I was halfway to crazy last night and now I've arrived."

"Thank you for the update, ensign. I'll enter that in the ship's medical log."

"Thanks," He chuckled wryly. "You're good to me."

"Would you like some advice?"

He shrugged.

Trinity took a sip of coffee and then remembered to wake her husband. On her way out, she deadpanned over her shoulder, "Get a haircut."

* * *


	25. Chapter 21

_**a/n: Hi, everyone. I hope the romantics among you like this chapter. It's a bit longer than what I usually post, but I couldn't bear break it up, b/c it should be read through from start to finish. So grab a coffee and get comfy. This is the Rorie&Knight story, the story of their friendship, told from Rorie's point of view. And it also gives quite a bit of background about our favourite Daughter of the One (unless you're a Synergy fan, which I am, but I know things about her that you all don't yet - AgentBunny, the AVID Trin fan, I think it will be my mission to redeem her somehow in your eyes, though not any time soon). **_

_**You all may want to skim the first half of Chapter 5, as there is some narrative overlap re: the night that Knight sneaks out of the orphanage**_

* * *

_**Chapter 21  
(someone to watch over me)**_

Rorie stood outside her apartment door, body against the cold metal, pulse racing. She frantically took inventory of the books that she'd managed to snatch in her haste, and realized with a sigh that half of what she needed was still inside. And there was no going back. Not with _him_ in there.

"Stupid. _Stupid_," she chided herself, trying to figure what she'd been thinking, gazing at him like that, watching Knight sleep as if this were the first time she'd gotten up to find him dozing on the sofa. It had happened countless times before, and she normally would have woken him, either by pulling at his hair, flicking his ear, or some other playful brand of little-sister torment. Then he'd grab her by the waist and wrestle her to the ground until she begged for mercy, her screeches waking her parents in the process, which would doom them both to dish-duty after breakfast. That was the custom in her house. What had gone wrong?

If only she had an answer to that question. Rorie had been so confused, so conflicted as she hovered over his body, faced with the man she'd fallen asleep thinking about, the same man she'd dreamed about the night before. An involuntary flush had warmed her cheeks as she recalled the specifics of her subconscious fantasies, bringing her fingers to her lips, neck, and shoulder, stopping over her heart. It was the same path Knight had followed, a trail of lingering, slow kisses, mouth hot and wet, leaving goosbumps in his wake. How could she have imagined such a thing? Indeed, having no previous experience from which to draw, the intensity and detail of the dream was surprising to her, as was the clarity of her memory of it. She could still feel him caressing her so gently, so wonderfully, whispering her name into her ear, '_My Rorie.'_

Before she'd even realized what she was doing, Rorie had kneeled down at the end of the sofa, close to his head, looking at him as if to beg for some answers, as if to ask his advice as her best friend, what was she to do? She missed not being able to talk to him, and ironically, she'd never felt more disconnected from Knight than she had in that moment. Again, she'd wanted to cry, sitting on the floor in her nightclothes, feeling that she was being forced into something for which she was not prepared, something she'd never asked for or expected to desire. She didn't want things to change, and yet they had, or rather _she_ had, and Rorie didn't know anything about this woman she had become. So much of her self-identity rested with Knight, in her friendship with him, that without it, she was more lost than she would ever admit aloud. She needed to tell him, but at the same time this was unthinkable. And all the while, Rorie couldn't move from her place beside him, gazing at him, thinking he was the most attractive man she knew, suppressing the urge to reach out and run her fingers through his curls. Or adjust the covers, or any excuse to make contact, to express everything she was holding back.

And then, as if by magic, Knight's eyes blinked open, golden and hazy with sleep. She froze completely, and he didn't say a word; he just looked at her. It must have been only a second or so, but to Rorie it seemed much longer, where she was unable to speak or move, held captive by his gaze, still kneeling next to him.

"Hi."

"Hello," she whispered back stupidly. And he touched her hand, which was resting on the arm of the sofa. Rorie jumped at the contact, the shock releasing her from his spell. "Sorry," she mumbled, getting up and backing away. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't?"

She realized her error. "I mean I _did_. I did mean to wake you. For breakfast."

Knight pulled himself into a sitting position. He didn't have a shirt on, and she found herself looking at his plugs with fascination, as if she'd never seen them before. Her stomach tightened.

"What are we having?"

"I don't know. I mean, I'm not staying. I've got to run as soon as I get dressed," Rorie said, averting her attention to her hands, then her bedroom door. "I'm already running late," she explained. "So I'll just… you know." She pointed to the bathroom and then hurried away, feeling completely ridiculous, and wondering what he must think of her.

She rushed through her shower and threw on some pants and one of her mother's old sweaters. And then, after stuttering a few more apologies, she ran from her own home, closing the front door behind her and pressing her back to the bright red metal.

"Stupid. Stupid…" Rorie said again. "_Stupid_." But eventually her self-reproach faded away, and all that was left was him.

"God, Knight." She breathed, shutting her eyes. "What are you doing to me?"

It was too intense, the emotion that kept her plastered to the door, as close as she could be to him without having to endure those eyes. The eyes she knew so well; she'd been looking into them for over eight years now, but suddenly it was as if she'd never really seen them before. As if she'd never really seen _him_ before. He was beautiful. Strangely beautiful, in a way she couldn't describe rationally, no more than she could verbalize the essence of music or poetry. That is, he touched whatever it was that made her human, and he made her want to touch back.

But it was not the first time. Her entire life, Knight had touched her, and always when she needed it most. Isn't that what they say about angels, Rorie wondered, knowing Knight would laugh at her if she ever suggested such a thing. But that's only because he had no idea how much he'd done for her, how much his friendship had meant over the years. And it was so like him not to know, to go through his life happily oblivious to the fact that everything she'd become, everything she'd been able to achieve, it was all because of him. How strange that it had worked out that way, that _Knight_ gave to _her_, to she who had everything. Well, almost everything. Because he was a boy who'd come from nothing. From worse than nothing. He'd come from the fields.

Unlike Knight, Rorie had grown up around a great deal of love, and it was only during her adolescence that she came to realize what a rare blessing this was for a child. That is, over forty percent of the Zionist population had been born into slavery, and a significant number of free born children had lost their parents in the Great War. Simply put, hers was a generation of orphans. And in a city where nearly every one had very little, Rorie never wanted for anything. Councilors frequently presented her with the city's most lavish nonessentials, and the poor would bestow trinkets they could ill-afford. Not that she kept any of it. Her parents always saw to it that the gifts were returned in the form of good-will donations. But still, she had clean clothes made from bright, fresh fabrics, and more books than most children saw in a lifetime (Ghost had made it his mission to ensure she had a hard-copy of every available publication, both scientific _and_ literary). But more precious than any of these luxuries were her parents. Rorie had a family. And not just any family. She had _the_ family.

And yet she had been unhappy. Not because she was spoiled or elitist, as almost every other child bitterly thought, intimidated or simply resentful of her parentage. But simply because when she attempted to integrate herself socially with her orphaned counterparts, no other child in the city ever looked at her as anything but… well, _different _was probably one of the kinder adjectives. In fact, her peers were relentless in their torment. She'd been told father was a false prophet, and her mother was a whore, or whatever other nonsense they could say to disgrace her. The breaking point came one day when a boy cut her hair off at the root of her ponytail as a show of his contempt. He was a pod born and had been out for over a year, but his hair had never grown in, which was a condition that affected only one in one thousand people (Morpheus, incidentally, also fell into this category). And so it was his poetic justice. But Rorie was only nine, and understood none of the psychology of his anger, or the intended political statement his actions carried. Only that he hated her for who she was, just like all the others.

That afternoon Rorie had run home, humiliated and furious for allowing herself to be victimized again, and too embarrassed to tell her parents what had happened. So she rummaged through her mother's closet to find a wrap to cover her head, the kind of traditional Zionist style of scarf that hid one's hair (a long shot considering this type of clothing was not habitually part of her mother's wardrobe). But she did find one, hemmed in the most beautiful lace she'd ever seen, with tiny diamonds sewn into the pattern. The delicate blue material was nearly weightless in her hands as Rorie tied it around her chin, a little awestruck by the sheer majesty of the garment. And that's when her father caught her, their reflected gazes meeting in the vanity.

"Is that…" and he trailed off, kneeling down to her level and examining the fabric with wonder. "Oh Rorie, this is your mother's wedding veil."

"I'm sorry," she heard herself say, eyes cast down to the floor.

"Don't be. You look as beautiful in it as she did. Your mother saving it for you to wear one day. That is, if the gods ever create a man worthy enough." He smiled thoughtfully and lifted the long train from the ground. "Custom calls for the groom to drape it around the bride at the beginning of the ceremony. I was so nervous I would mess it up. You see, there is actually a special way you have to tie it… I'm not sure if I remember, but…"

He reached out to fix the knot, but Rorie darted away, her vision blurred with tears. "Daddy…" Her voice shook.

And she cried, because she didn't want anything to do with the jeweled riches crowning her head. She was tired of being an outcast, tired of carrying her parents' deified status on her shoulders. The burden was too much.

"What, my angel?"

"No, no, I don't want to _be_ your angel anymore!" she yelled, the words pouring from her heart to her lips, the way they always did when she spoke to her father. It was impossible to hold back with him. "I wish I'd never been born into this family! I wish I were _anyone_ else but who I am!"

And she'd never forget the look on his face. It was as if she'd physically slapped him, though he recovered from the blow almost instantly, pulling her to his chest and holding her until the sobbing subsided.

"I'm sorry," she begged him, again and again. And she'd never been sorrier in her life. Her hair no longer mattered, all that she could think of was how she'd hurt him, of that raw flash of pain and shock in his eyes. She'd openly rejected her birthright and shamed her father, and the latter offence was unforgivable. But he rocked her, comforted her, loved her in spite of it all. Unconditional love. That was her father's greatest legacy to her; indeed, the only one of any consequence.

But that day had changed her, and the stunted length of her hair acted as a constant reminder of why. Rorie's faith in the world was shaken, so much so that she gave up on friendship with outsiders entirely, especially with pod borns. None of them could be trusted. Her parents and extended family were the only exceptions, and so they became her entire world, and for awhile, it was enough.

But it wasn't long afterwards that her mother accepted her captaincy of the Neb from Morpheus, and this rocked her world again, much more than either of her parents realized. Rorie was terrified of losing them, her overactive child's imagination conjuring images of sentinels and agents, bullets and brimstone. And though they still spent more than two thirds of their time in Zion, and spoke to her on the com daily, every mission was agony. They'd abandoned her, her two best friends, and it was only a matter of time before they would leave one day and not return. And for what?

_Knight_.

Yes, Rorie remembered with an ironic smile. She had really hated him at first. Hated what he represented. That is, her parents' new life as the heroes who rescued hair-hacking orphans from the fields, leaving her behind to risk their lives for people she didn't even know. For people who would hurt her if given the chance. And it didn't help that Knight was all her mother had talked about for a week before they left to free him. He was one of the youngest hackers they'd ever found, had remarkable intuition, was a real natural, blah, blah, blah. Oh, and did she mention he was a Quebecer? Well, that was hardly a surprise, all the greats are Canadians, after all…

And then they'd taken three weeks to unplug him, which was longer than usual, because apparently Knight's aptitude tests were off the charts and her mother had taken an interest in his training. She wanted to instill the basics before 'Zion ruined him.' Indeed, by the time her parents eventually got back, Rorie had heard more about Knight-the-wonder-battery than she could stomach, and was wickedly delighted to hear that her parents left the twelve-year-old boy at the orphanage before returning home to see her. Finally, things could get back to normal.

Now, imagine her surprise and immense distaste when Knight showed up at their apartment that night. _Her_ apartment. Dragging her poor, overworked parents from bed to answer the door. And never had she ever heard such deliberate self-pity! He'd run away from the orphanage, he didn't fit in there, and then something in French, and he missed _Trin_. And Rorie couldn't believe her ears; he'd actually called her mother _Trin!_

He should have been corrected. He _should_ have been put in his place. But instead, her mother knelt down and wrapped her arms around the boy, delicate fingers stroking the back of his nearly bald head. She'd called him a 'little monster,' which was also a mistake, because that was one of Rorie's names. And though she wasn't particularly fond of the moniker, she had no desire to share it, either.

"Please, can I stay here for just _one_ night? Just this _once_, Trin. Don't send me back there," Knight begged. "I want to stay with _you_. Please!"

"How in the world did you get here in the first place?" Trinity asked, prying herself away so she could close the front door and turn on the living room lamp. At this point, Knight was already on the couch, making himself comfortable.

"The security protocols at the orphanage are surprisingly uninspired. It's almost as if they don't _expect_ you to run away…"

Trinity folded her arms across her chest and stared down at him. "I meant, how did you find out where I live?"

"Oh. At that place, any information is available for a price."

"And what could you possibly have to sell? With nothing but the clothes on your back…"

"Let's just say I'm not the _only_ jailbird who broke out of Alcatraz tonight." He winked, and Rorie was certain he'd be in trouble, even though she had no idea what 'Alcatraz' was. But her mother just shook her head and sighed, as if it were some accomplishment that this boy had been able to track her down and wake them all up in the middle of the night.

And then, finally, she seemed to notice Rorie was standing there. "Oh Knight, this is my daughter," she said. "Rorie, this is-"

"I'm Knight. With a 'K.' Like the chess piece," he said, holding out his hand and grinning broadly. "I'm new here… so I guess you could also call me a… _rookie_? Which is funny, you know, because that's also a chess piece." Then he scowled, and wrinkled up his nose. "Trin… do people play chess in the real world? I don't want to sound stupid every time I say that."

"I got it," Rorie said, taking his hand and smiling as sweetly as she could. "Mom, maybe I should give Knight a tour, if he's going to stay tonight."

Trinity naively thought this was a good idea, and Knight followed Rorie into her room.

"What do you think you're _doing_?" she hissed once she had him alone.

"You invited me in," was the infuriatingly logical response.

"No. This is _my_ home. And that is _my_ mother making you tea out there!"

"But Trin…"

"And stop calling her that! Nobody but Dad ever calls her that. I call her Mom, and Dad calls her Trin, and orphans go to the orphanage, and they _stay_ there. That's Zion. Get used to it."

"Trin told me a lot about you… but she didn't tell me you were so mean. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to my couch."

Knight turned to leave, but Rorie stopped him. "Wait. Mom told you about me? What did she say?"

He shrugged. "All good things… which makes me wonder. You don't have a twin sister in here, do you? Like one you tied up, gagged, and shoved under the bed?"

"No, _specifically_. What did she say? Did she say I was smart? Like smart enough to work on the ship smart? Because I am, you know. I'm _very_ smart."

"Well… no. She didn't say _that_." And he seemed amused, but Rorie didn't care, because she was absolutely devastated.

That night Rorie pulled out all her study materials, which included textbooks, technical manuals, Fleet Academy prep guides, and her mother's original blueprints of the new hovercraft specs. And she sat with a flashlight, as she often did, reading and memorizing the data, taking note of every detail. But Rorie couldn't concentrate as she normally did; she was too discouraged by what Knight had told her. A few tears smudged her mother's handwriting on the pages, and Rorie leaned her head back on her pillow, covered her eyes with her hand, and sobbed. She sobbed for her intellectual shortcomings, for the loss of her parents, and mostly, she sobbed for her loneliness, which, in the absence of her family, had begun to take its toll.

And then Knight was there, beside her bed, large hazel eyes soft with concern. Startled, she told him to go away, and she really meant it, but he didn't budge. After a long period of silent deliberation, Knight climbed up onto the mattress and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

And despite herself, she told him the truth. The real crux of it, anyhow. "I'm never going learn all of this. I'm never going to be good enough."

He shuffled through the papers on her bed. "Wow. Good enough for what? NASA mission control?"

"Don't you get it? To go _with_ them. Mom only takes the best on the Neb," she said through tears. "I don't want to be left behind anymore…"

Overwrought, she couldn't say any more, so Knight held her more tightly, and he stayed with her until she fell asleep, all the while not saying a word. It was the first act of true kindness Rorie had ever been shown by an outsider, and the first time she didn't feel judged or revered without cause.

Then, when she woke up the next morning, he was gone.

"Well, to the orphanage, of course," was her mother's response to her first question. "He can't stay here forever. Last night was a _one_ time thing only."

"He sure didn't want to go, though," her father remarked. "You made quite an impression on him, Rorie."

"Me?"

Her mother smiled. "Knight told us how you sat up with him last night, to keep him company when he was lonely? He said if it hadn't been for you, he probably wouldn't have been able to sleep. I think that was really nice of you. He's had a bit of a rough transition, the poor thing."

For a week Rorie was dumbfounded and confused. What kind of game was this boy playing with her? To be so nice, take no credit, and then leave without saying goodbye, as if it were nothing? It didn't make any sense to her, and Rorie secretly wished he'd come back, if only so she could confront him, demand an explanation. Then one afternoon Rorie was on the catwalk with David and Morpheus, and she saw him. Knight was with a group of other boys his age, all pod-born, and they were laughing, presumably at something he'd said. One was rubbing his fuzzy head and punching him playfully, and Rorie heard another holler, "That's our Rookie!"

They all ended up waiting at the same elevator, and when Knight's friends spotted her, there was an abrupt silence. Rorie noticed a few of them cupping their mouths and whispering to him, grinning. Of course they were telling him everything, who she _really_ was, and goodness knows what other things, all of which were probably lies. She felt her face burn as she leaned closer to Morpheus, almost cowering under his arm as she self-consciously ran a hand through her short hair. She hated them, and Knight along with them. And all through the agonizingly long ascending trip, Rorie avoided Knight's eyes, as he stood protected in his pack of allies.

"Hey Rookie! Aren't you coming?" one yelled as after the elevator chirped their stop. Knight hadn't moved from Rorie's side.

"Nope. I'll catch you guys later. I have somewhere to be. Cover for me," he replied, letting the doors slide shut.

Rorie just stared at him, and he looked back innocently. Then, as if suddenly recognizing her, he said, "Oh, wait… I think I know you from _somewhere_." He smiled, with dimples. "You're… _Maury_, right?"

"_Rorie_."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." He chuckled and nudged her. "Are you, uhm. You okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied curtly. As an afterthought she added, "Thank you for your concern."

He nodded, and she could tell he continued to study her, even after she'd looked away. "I was also wondering how that twin sister of yours is doing," he ventured. "You let her out from under the bed now and then? Keep her water bowl nice and fresh?"

Rorie wanted to glare, or ignore him completely, but the goofy smile on his face made both options impossible. "Sometimes," was the answer she managed, only barely suppressing a smirk.

"Good. Cause, I was thinking that maybe we could be friends. I mean, you _too_, of course. The three of us. If you wanted."

She didn't answer, and when the lift stopped at her level, Morpheus and David stepped out (both looking rather perplexed by the conversation) and Rorie followed suite. At this point, Knight was the only one left in the elevator, and she turned back to look at him curiously. "So where are you going?" she asked. "Where do you have to be?"

"Oh, nowhere. I just… well, I just wanted to say hi to you." He shrugged. "Those guys are idiots, anyway."

The doors began to close, but Rorie suddenly reached out to stop them. "Mom says she misses you all the time," she lied, the words coming out faster than she could stop them. "I'm on my way home, so if you don't have anything else to do… she'd probably appreciate a visit."

He beamed, eyebrows shooting up across his forehead. "_Trin misses me? I knew it! I told her she would!_"

Of course, the thought did cross her mind that he was only pretending to be her friend, talking to her so that he could later gossip about it behind her back (because this, too, had happened before). Or perhaps all he was interested in was getting close to her mother, whom he obviously adored. But as time went by, Rorie found it increasingly difficult not to give him the benefit of the doubt. Inherently, he was different from the others. She'd never known anyone so openly friendly, or so unconcerned with what other people thought or said. Knight's world was simple. He'd never had a family, and had fallen in love with hers, and would do anything to earn his place in it. As far as he was concerned, it was Trin, Neo, and Rorie. In that order.

But somewhere along the way that order changed, so gradually that none of them noticed it happen. Rorie became first, and they were inseparable. Their connection came about naturally, as Rorie developed from an introverted, bitterly victimized child into something much greater, into everything she could be and had become. It was Knight who changed her. Perhaps not always directly, and certainly never consciously, but it was his friendship that allowed her to embrace life again, to trust Zion again.

The nearly four-year age difference didn't seem to matter; in fact, few people appeared to notice. Rorie had always looked older than she was, and was perceived by most to be more mature than Knight, who had the arguably misleading air of a bashful child. They grew up together, and when Knight decided he wanted to take the Fleet Academy admissions test, it was Rorie who drilled him from her ample study materials, and operated for him when he trained tirelessly in constructs. Knight was admitted at the top of his class one full year early, and was given highest honours in several fields.

In exchange, Knight pried Rorie away from her books long enough to introduce her to many good friends, and snuck her into clubs she was too young to frequent. He had been her first chaperone to a public gathering, her first slow dance partner, and had held her hair back the first time she got too drunk to walk.

That was a memory that still have her pain to recall. She was sixteen, he was twenty, it was his graduation night, and Trinity had just officially granted him full apprenticeship on the Neb. They'd gone out to celebrate.

"Jesus, how many did you _have_?" Knight looked with horror at the empty shot glasses in front of her. He'd been flirting with some of the senior girls (twins this time – Kesare & Kiana) and hadn't noticed her begin to sample the various experimental beverages that Academy graduation parties always had to offer. It was her first experience with mixing booze, and Rorie was soon to realize that somewhere along the way, she'd gone horribly wrong.

"I'm not sure," was the answer she remembered giving to his question. It had just begun to hit her. "But, you know, that blue stuff fixed my headache. Then the pink stuff gave me another one."

Knight held her by the shoulders, and looked straight into her eyes, examining her. "Jesus, Trin's going to fire me before I even step on board. And your _Dad_… Oh, I'm a dead man. He'll jack me in and go to town if he sees _this_."

"I won't tell if you don't."

He chuckled wearily. "No, the doctor who pumps your stomach will do the talking for us. C'mon, we're leaving."

"No! Knight, I'm fine. Let's have fun," she entreated, not quite recognizing her own voice. Another rush of adrenaline sizzled under her skin, and it felt wonderful. "Come and dance with me… _ensign_."

"_Rorie_."

Her skin was sweaty and the music in the club pounded in her ears as she threw herself into his arms, pressing their bodies together. Everything in the room but him was spinning, and his chest was marvellously hard against her breasts. "_Dance_ with me. Just _a little bit_. Like you taught me… right?"

They'd danced many times before, but never in the way she ground herself against him that night. Knight held her firmly by the hips, separating their middles as she moved, though she was too gone to notice or to care. And when there came a pause in the music, Rorie kept her arms locked around his neck, their faces impossibly close. "Knight," she breathed. "I'm so happy for you. All your hard work… but now… you're leaving me. Just like they did... just like they left me all those years ago."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Maybe not _yet_. But you will." She ran her hands through his hair, fingertips tingling with the stimulants in the drinks. "Tell me you don't really care about any of those other girls," she whispered. "You're still all mine, aren't you?"

"I'll always be yours, Rorie."

And she couldn't control herself. She grabbed the back of his neck, and kissed him, drunkenly and gracelessly, publicly making claim to her territory. It was her first kiss, and her lips were numb from the alcohol, the memory still hazy in her mind. She remembered that Knight hadn't kissed her back, but took her face in his hands and gently eased her away. She could hardly maintain her balance. "Rorie, come with me. You need to lie down."

She nodded her agreement, but couldn't speak coherently, the thoughts a jumbled mess of words and fragments. He took her to his dorm room three floors up, and she was sick for nearly an hour as he fed her water and acetaminophen. She woke up the next morning on the couch, and Knight was packing up the last of his things, messily folding clothes into boxes.

"Knight?" Her mouth was dry and her head pounded as she eased herself from the pillow. "Oh, what _happened_?"

And then she remembered. She remembered everything that mattered, and she was mortified.

Knight handed her a tall glass of water. "You missed curfew, that's for sure," he said, smiling. "But don't worry, I've got you covered on the home front. If they ask, the story is you fell asleep while watching a movie. If they ask what movie, tell them you were too drunk to remember. I mean, no. Better idea, tell them it was a documentary on crazy frat parties… oh, no that still sounds bad, doesn't it…?"

She lifted her hand to silence him, not laughing, or even smiling. "Knight. What happened last night… what I did… God, I'm so embarrassed. I don't know what came over me…"

The smile abruptly vanished from his face, and an awkward beat passed as he looked away. Perhaps he hadn't expected her to remember. "Oh, hey. Rorie, it's okay. Don't worry about it," he said with a shrug. Then he grinned and nudged her shoulder. "If a squiddie gets me on my first mission, I can at least die a happy man, right?"

"Oh, don't say that!" she scolded, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. "Don't even _joke_ about that."

"Okay. I won't." And he hugged her back fiercely. "Thank you, Rorie," he said to her. "I wouldn't have made it without you."

It was so sincere, so heartfelt, she nearly cried. "Well, just save a spot for me, right?" she chuckled. "I'm on my way."

And then he turned serious with her. It was one of his rare serious moments, where he spoke in a voice that most people didn't know he had. "You should switch programs," he said. "Restart in the biological sciences curriculum. You're good at it, Rorie. You're really good."

"Oh, Knight. My mother-"

"Will get over it."

"I just have two years to go."

"And then what? A position as an operator?" He shook his head. "You're a damn good operator, the best one I've ever had, but I just don't see it. You weren't meant to work in the background. You were meant to stand in the spotlight."

"Like my Dad?" At this point she was teasing him.

"No. Like _you_. And that's my point. The Neb isn't where you belong. Not in your parents' shadows. I know you, Rorie. And I know that's not where you want to be…"

* * *

Two years later, as Rorie paced outside her apartment door with all the wrong books in her arms, she feared that she was just as transparent now as she had been then. Knight had always seen her more clearly than she saw herself, had always been several steps ahead of her. At least, when it came to the things that really mattered. 

Did he know how she was feeling that very moment? Could he sense her passion and angst through the thick steel that separated them? The possibility horrified her. And this time, she had nowhere to turn, no best friend to guide her. She was veritably torn; it was a physical pain in her heart, as half wanted desperately to run to him, to lean on him, to trust him, and the other half recoiled in terror. In the end, Rorie valued the friendship above all else, and did the only thing that was certain to preserve their relationship.

She ran.

* * *

_**Note: my reference to"Kes and Kiana" - this is my way of giving props to another Daughter of The One writer, the very talented ChiaraStorm (see her work, Awakening). Update soon!**_


	26. Chapter 22

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_**Chapter 22**_

It was a mild afternoon, the sky a pale wash over an artist's canvas, watercolors layered expertly to blur the transition from pink to mauve to violet. The moon was already visible in the dusk, a nacreous sickle waiting for the imminent darkness, its power lying dormant until the magical cover of night.

She was equally patient, standing barefoot by the shore among wild Beach Peas and Panicled Asters, long black hair knotted in a four stranded braid around gilded ribbons and beads carved from ivory. She pulled a brown, suede leather cape around her bare shoulders, a rough but regal wrap ceremoniously decorated with black bear fur and white eagle's feathers. And in the breeze, two large earrings reminiscent of dream catchers knocked against the elegant curve of her neck, and tear shaped opals dangled in an arc from the base of each hoop. She could have been a native princess awaiting the return of her lover from a distant war, or the living image of an ancient tribal goddess. But this woman was never what she appeared. She was always shrouded in an unknowable blanket of majesty, a flawlessly maintained pretence which served her well in the Matrix. Still, he persisted.

"Synergy."

She didn't turn to face him when he called her name, having sensed his presence for some time. She was never surprised to see him. "It isn't safe for us to meet like this anymore."

"Why not?"

"Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers? You waste our time together."

"Because of Smith."

She nodded, sighing. "I cherish your company, dear friend. Sometimes, it feels as if I could stay here with you forever... sometimes, I can almost fool myself into thinking it's real… not that I can imagine what that must be like. To _be_ real."

"Oh, Syn..."

"No, please. Neo, you must know he will take whatever you give me. He already has, and it makes him all the more determined. It is inevitable."

"I'll kill him."

She glanced over her shoulder, her irides eerily white in the sunlight. "Oh, Neo. You don't understand."

No, it was _she_ who did not understand. And how he longed to explain himself, to take her in his arms and call her his own. But the declaration of his paternal love caught in his throat. Even here, where they were alone, he could not form the words, for with this admission would come the story of her initial abandonment, and he could not bring himself to hurt her with the truth. His darling one, his poor lost child of love. What kind of life had she known?

The Merovingian's unwanted charge. She'd told him her story weeks ago, her head resting on his shoulder as they watched the sun set behind the poplar trees, and that night, Neo's heart broke with grief. But she told him not to cry for her, only tell her of the real world, of his escape from the fields, of Zion and his family. "Tell me about your daughter," she'd asked him once. "The analytic young woman with your eyes. I am especially curious about her." And so he spoke at length of Aurora. Indeed, though their encounters were few and their time brief (for here in the Matrix they both had other responsibilities), Neo did all he could to indulge her spirit with talk of happier things.

But he knew that today would offer no such opportunity for conversation. It had been twenty one days since Zion had discovered Genesis, and since then the machines had been relentless in their attacks on the Resistance, both inside and outside the Matrix. Synergy was getting tired; Neo could see it in her face, though she'd never admit her fatigue to him. Like her mother, she was too proud to confer weakness of any kind.

Neo joined her on the pebbled bank, taking her hand in his as he often did, adjusting her clothing to shield exposed skin from the wind which snagged tiny white peaks on the surface of the water. She let him touch her, though her posture remained stoic, her eyes scanning the horizon. She was a warrior looking on her battlefield, listening for the distant thumping of soldiers marching on soil, or the slicing of canoes through the river's calm.

"Do you hear anything? Can you sense them?" she asked.

He held his breath and stood in silence with her before replying, "No."

"Good." Synergy closed her eyes in a subtle gesture of relief. "Then we have a moment. Hold me."

Neo faltered, uncertain how to proceed. She was not aware of their familial connection, and though he yearned to touch her, to connect with what part of himself and Trinity he'd lost all those years ago, he was cautious not to lead her astray. It was a fine line, over which he stumbled, never knowing what she was thinking, what was going on behind those stunning, enigmatic eyes.

"Hold me, please. I don't care if he finds out anymore." Synergy rested her head against his chest and folded her arms between their two bodies, prompting him to embrace her entirely. Neo's tears fell on the crown of her head.

"I'll come for you. Just say the word and I will come for you," he promised her. "I'll find a way to get you out."

"Not yet. We have so much to do. This is just the beginning."

"They'll kill you," Neo replied, taking her chin in his hand and forcing her to look at him. "Synergy. They have already threatened Zion if I continue to help you. If my government knew how dangerous this really was… I cannot continue to lie for you."

"Zion! What of _Zion_, when I have laid the entire _world _at your feet! They will never breach the boundaries of Genesis. Listen." She took his hands, squeezing them in reassurance. "My armies are vast; we grow stronger every day. Don't fear for Zion. Don't fear for me. All will be well, my friend. Only stay the course."

Neo could not deny her. He touched her cheek with the same proud affection he reserved for Rorie, love outshining the dull twinge of doubt that persisted during his quieter moments. "You should go," he said. "You're exhausted."

She took his hand from her cheek and kissed the palm, folding his fingers into a fist as if to keep the token safe. "I'm fine."

"Don't go to him tonight, Synergy," Neo pleaded. "Don't let him in. His evil runs deeper than you could imagine."

Synergy could not meet his eyes as she smiled sadly to herself. "Oh, Neo," she said again. "You still don't understand. Smith and I…"

His phone rang abruptly, and Synergy sighed, as she often did when she heard that sound. He had to go. Neo answered his cellular and listened as Kirk told him the Neb was clear to recharge, and Trinity wanted to get underway as soon as possible. He told him to hack an exit through one of Synergy's secure lines, back at her headquarters, which she'd moved to Milan after being driven from Paris, London and Prague.

"You're off to the surface," she observed as he hung up. "I will have many fireflies there to meet you, Neo. They'll light your every step, I promise."

He smiled. "Okay. I appreciate it."

Neo had only begun to comprehend Synergy's intimate connection with the biomechanical creatures which co-inhabited the wilderness of Genesis. He'd asked her many times to explain it, but she claimed to have no understanding of the situation beyond the fact that they were 'connected,' and it was her purpose to care for them, and they for her.

"The rebels say that this new technology was created by an earlier version of The Source, in his divine wisdom to rebuild what was lost over six hundred years ago," she'd explained. "All I know is, my entire life, I've felt a presence, only realizing what it was as I grew older. Now I can feel them always. I give to them, and they give back. It is a… symbiosis of sorts. I suppose that's the point. That we're stronger together."

Perhaps this was an understatement. In fact, the same technology that was responsible for the existence of the forest dwellers was also integrated into the resistance sentinels, and into the power cells generating the boundaries of Genesis. Rorie had said in one of her letters that it was _'an new level of organic and mechanical co-evolution,_' and she was not surprised to hear that a sentinel equipped with this type of energy converter could effectively defend against tens of similar AI's, engineered with a lesser technology. '_I think it is a matter of Darwinian natural selection at this point_,' she'd written to him. '_It's like a new type of machine has laid claim to the planet, and the old ones are no match for them. I can't say that we'd be any match for them, either. It is very fortunate that they appear to be on our side.' _

Neo's heart tightened. He hadn't seen Rorie in three weeks. The Neb had been out that long. As if reading his thoughts, Synergy smiled at him, pulling a key from her pocket to open an invisible door in the programming. "You are thinking of your daughter, yes? The ever-studious Aurora, who has been so curious about my little insects… she will be arriving tonight as well, I believe."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Her birthday's next week. Eighteen years old. She'll celebrate on the surface."

They entered into a stone fortress, and Synergy nodded at a few of her guards, all exiles who had joined her cause. Neo recognized a few, namely Jones and Brown, who were now rogue agents, like Smith. Others were former apprentices to the Merovingian, who had smelled blood in the water and decided to change allegiance. They were certainly wise to do so, Neo considered, given what they had planned.

"Are you sure he will be there?" Neo asked her as they stepped into the elevator. "I don't want any mistakes when we finally seize the Train Station."

She grinned. "Oh, I'm certain. Mother never misses an opening night."

"Synergy, don't ever call her that again."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "I'm sorry. It is a habit of mine. Sometimes, I find it difficult to accept that I am no longer her child. That I never was. She was kind to me, Neo. If it hadn't been for her…"

"She _abandoned_ you. I will not forgive her for that. They were supposed to take care of you, Synergy."

She fell silent until the elevator doors chimed open to her large glass foyer, where Smith was waiting stoically for her return.

"Synergy," he purred, a disgusting smile creeping across his face. It took all of Neo's self-control not to kill him. But the last time he'd tried, Synergy had inexplicably thrown herself between them, defending the program with such a passion that made Neo question her sanity. What's more, Smith had displayed a similar commitment to ensuring her well-being, shadowing her attentively, gun always at the ready. Not that he needed one anymore. Smith had grown very powerful, acquiring many of Synergy's remarkable skills as the weeks rolled by. It was perhaps the only thing that kept Neo from ripping him apart when Synergy's back was turned… that when he wasn't in the Matrix, he could trust that Smith would protect her with his existence, which had become rather formidable.

"Has the operator called?" Synergy asked the program, kissing him on both cheeks and pausing briefly to straighten his designer tie (a gift from her, no doubt).

"Yes. A few moments ago. I patched it though to your office."

Synergy thanked him, and Neo followed her into the suite, where a telephone was ringing. After hugging him warmly, she picked up the receiver, but held her palm over it as she whispered, "Regarding Aurora. I know you worry for her, Neo. It's only natural, the instinct to defend one's child. So I want you to know that I will keep a watchful eye on her, once she arrives in Genesis. As a gift to you, she will be kept close to me, always."

She then handed him the phone, which Neo accepted with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. How strange that suddenly, her faint European accent reminded him of Persephone, and her melodic tone reminded him of Smith. But he banished the comparison as soon as it entered his mind.

Instead, Neo focused on the object of their next mission, the Merovingian himself, who undoubtedly held the key to everything. If anyone could verify the truth of Synergy's identity, it was him. And once Neo knew for sure that Synergy was his, and had extracted enough information to be able to free her, he could tell Trinity everything. It was a moment that he both longed for and feared at the same time. The day he could tell his wife with certainty that he'd found their daughter, and they were going to bring her home finally, reclaiming what had been taken from them so unjustly all those years ago.

Together, Neo thought hopefully, he and Trinity could end this war. They'd done it once before, against nearly impossible odds. And if there was one thing he knew, it was that a love like theirs could do it again. And this time, they'd be carried by more than just a love for each other, but something much more powerful, and much more fundamental. That is, by parental love for a child. This, above all, would be their salvation.

* * *

Synergy replaced the receiver on the phone and leaned back against the table, sighing sadly, suddenly feeling horribly alone. It gave her such pain to see him go.

"Nice outfit, Pocahontas," Smith commented, standing in the doorframe. She glared at him, and he raised an eyebrow. "It's a bitch when they have to go home to their wives and children, isn't it?"

"It wouldn't be so bad if _I_ didn't have to come home to _you_."

He chuckled. "You don't mean that. You're just despondent. Come on, human. I'll make you a drink. Drown your sorrows! That's what humans do, and I know how much you love to think of yourself as one of them, so..."

"I don't want a drink."

"You always want a drink. It's alright. Mr. Anderson drives me to drink, too. Always has. Insufferable man. I'll make it a double."

She watched as he mixed her a green martini, or as Smith called it, a 'Synergini.' It tasted of sour grapes, which was his idea of a joke at her expense, and he handed it to her with a sly grin. "Now buck up. I need you in a good mood for tomorrow night. Frown lines don't become you."

"Hmm." She sipped the ice-cold gin. "Did everyone RSVP?"

"Everyone who will be alive to attend." He slid his sunglasses on. "The defectors will be taken care of. Tonight. That's where I'm going."

"Long list?"

"No. Not this time. People love your parties. I shouldn't be long." Smith slid his arm around her and stole a kiss before she could stop him. "And get out of that ridiculous costume," he added, looking her over with distaste.

"_Costume_! This pelt is a Jean Paul Gaultier original!"

"As if Mr. Anderson even knows who that is. You'd do better to approach him in the Zionist rags you'll be wearing soon enough." He smiled and tossed his jacket over his shoulder. "I'm trying to picture it. _You_, dressed as a slave, no makeup, no manicure, no Tahitian vanilla to put in your bath water. At least your suffering will be brief. Within a day, you'll die of boredom without me. You'll see."

Synergy narrowed her eyes over the rim of the glass and knocked back the rest of her Synergini as Smith walked out the door. Off to kill a few of her enemies. Good. At least it would give her a few hours of peace. She mixed herself another of the same drink, threw her clothes into the garbage and ran herself a warm bath, foregoing the vanilla this time. Stupid program. If anyone was insufferable, it was him. Driving her crazy with horror stories of no manicures and threadbare clothing. Give her a few weeks with that city! They'll be manicurists, pedicurists, masseuses and yoga instructors. And she'd have a closet full of gowns. Neo would see to it.

Synergy lowered herself into the tepid water but almost instantly rose to get her Tahitian oils, cursing the program's name as she did it. She might as well enjoy them while she had the chance. Back in the bath, she lit a few candles, sprinkled rose petals over the surface, and leaned her head back onto her inflatable aqua pillow (a gift from Smith, though she didn't _need_ it...but it was already suctioned onto the porcelain so she might as well use the damned thing). She closed her eyes, and then there was silence. Good.

A few minutes later and Synergy was sitting up, rapping her fingernails on the edge of the tub, thoroughly unsatisfied. She had been taking Neo to the mountains for weeks now. And still nothing. A warm hug goodbye, the occasional kiss on the _forehead. _What was he for goodness sakes, her _father_? She'd even dressed in that ludicrous outfit (Smith was right; the thing was ghastly. She'd go back to the trash and burn it later).

She'd told him she needed a friend. She'd told him she needed someone to talk to besides Smith, someone _human_. She'd begged him to slip away with her for a moment, just for a moment, into the surreal beauty of the French alps, where she'd grown up. To hear her story, to understand her reasons for doing what she does, for fighting as hard as she does. And moments had turned to minutes turned to hours; their words flowed like water, their minds connected perfectly in phase. He understood her. He loved her. She could tell.

Synergy frowned. And yet still Neo rejected her. He denied her everything the program gave in abundance without asking a thing in return. And the more Neo continued to frustrate, the more Smith persisted in his attempts to romance her. Not that she was complaining. Diamond earrings left on her pillow. Breakfast in bed. And he was very good at predicting the machines' strategies for erasing her from existence. In fact, she hardly worried about it anymore. Sometimes, Smith almost managed to make the struggle bearable.

She scoffed and added some more hot water to the bath. _Almost_ being the operative word. She couldn't wait to get out of here. But perhaps the party tomorrow night would improve her mood. The Exiles were finally coming around to see her side of things, and with the support of the program community, victory was all but certain on the outside. It was only a matter of time. She would be free, and with Smith's help, she'd make the machines would pay for what they'd done to her, all those years ago.

First it would be the Merovingian. She smiled wickedly. _Then every other machine on the planet. _


	27. Chapter 23

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_**Chapter 23**_

_My Rorie - _

_I'm not sure how to begin this letter, only to say that it feels as if a lifetime has passed since I've seen you, even though in reality it has only been three weeks. Twenty one days. And now everything's changed. The entire world has changed. _

_I wish I could radio you, but Trin has shut down main power and we've gone into blackout mode. It's the fourth time this week we've hidden in the sewers to avoid being detected, and sometimes we stay like this for hours at a time. Sometimes all night. It gets cold, and unbearably quiet. During moments like this, writing to you seems to be the only thing that makes any sense. It makes me feel closer to home. _

_I heard that you were finally assigned to an SRP ground crew, and God, I wish I were in Zion to celebrate with you. You're going to love Base Camp. I was there just last week when we surfaced to recharge. It was so surreal to see the shiny metallic skeleton and twinkling lights of a new settlement nestled into this lush, green wilderness. I'm telling you, it's like everything you've ever dreamed of, Rorie. It's almost as if you imagined Genesis into existence. At least, that's what I think when I look at it. I think of you._

_Trin was thrilled to read you'd been placed. You should have seen the look on her face. Really, if you ever begin to question weather or not your mother is proud of you, just ask me to describe her expression when she read that letter. There was a glow about her all day afterwards. Neo, too. And out here, that's really something. I don't think I've seen either of them smile in a week. Trin does nothing but work her ass off to keep the ship in one piece, and your Dad spends all day jacked in. It's taking its toll, I think. On both of them. _

_All I can think is, so this is what it's like to fight a war. All those years studying at the Academy, those endless hours of training, practically living with Zion's greatest war heroes, and I didn't have a clue. None of us did- Dave, Kirk, Hawk-Eye. We're all just barely surviving it, like in a haze. _

_But in a lot of ways, we're the lucky ones. Synergy is pushing her resistance forces forward to destroy some more electricity distribution nodes, and Zion Fleet command has pledged three ships to help her do it. I couldn't imagine being on one of those ships. It's not so much the idea of blowing up a power plant that scares me, but having to fly over the fields to get there. It's the one thing I could never really come to terms with, the pods, the fact that they'd made me. Grown me. Like some sick science experiment. God, I don't know. I guess it's shame. I'm ashamed of it. That I owe them my existence._

_You were right, by the way. You were right all along about Synergy's plan. She called a meeting of all Fleet members who could attend, and we assembled in the Matrix two days ago. It was the first time I'd actually seen her. Terrifying woman, with eyes like steel- eyes that make you believe she can do all the things she does. She handed over the engineering specs of Genesis, and explained that it's actually a giant dome of electromagnetic energy, an impenetrable dampening field that acts like a synthetic atmosphere. Like a bubble blocking out the Black Smoke, and so far, all the attempts by 01 to invade it. The whole thing is powered by a network of bimolecular solar panels, just like the insect wings you showed me in the lab. It was just as you said- an amazingly efficient energy conversion protocol. And the Machines want the technology badly, especially now that we've destroyed twenty percent of their raw power reserves._

_It was really something to stand there and listen to this woman say that she'd allow the Machines to tap Genesis' ample solar resources if they surrendered the Matrix's administrative control codes. Just like that, and her face was like stone. Hand over the Matrix and everyone hooked up to it, and we'll share. Not only that, but she has plans for expanding the dome over the entire globe, if the Machines cooperate and contribute resources to building more solar converters. Meaning, if the entire Machine city will bow to the will of one human being. _

_Your mom says it'll never happen in a million years. She says they'll kill Synergy first, even if it does crash the entire system. Or the Machines will attack Zion in retribution, a scenario that is becoming more and more believable as the sentinel titer in the sewers increases. It makes me glad you're getting out of the city, Rorie. Genesis seems to be the safer place to be these days. Perhaps that's a cowardly thing for me to say, but I don't care. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you._

_I have my fingers crossed, hoping that the Neb will be able to dock in time for your arrival tonight. I want to be there when you finally see it. When you look up at the stars for the first time. And I'll take you to this place I know, a cliff that overlooks the water, where you will be able to see the sun rise before the first rays even hit the settlement. The sky sparkles with a hundred different colours at dawn, and they say that it has something to do with how the light refracts through Synergy's dome. Anyhow, I'm sure you'd be able to explain it better than anyone- Aurora, Goddess of the Morning. _

_Your mom's sitting across from me now in the mess hall … she wants me to tell you that she loves you. She cut my hair a few days ago, can you believe that? Out of the blue, she just marches into the room with a pair of scissors, and tells me that she's had enough, and I need to shut up and bend my woman's hairdo over the sink. From the look on her face I was sure she was going for my jugular, but I actually came out of it looking pretty good. It's nothing drastic, just a trim – I think she went easy on me because it's so damn cold in here all the time. Like, I need the 'insulation.'_

_I told her she missed her calling and should have been a hairdresser. And she hit me pretty hard._

_Best goddamn Captain in the Fleet, your mother… don't worry, Rorie – she's never going to let those bastards get to us…_

* * *

The ship groaned and shuddered, and Trinity quickly reached out to keep her mug of tea from spilling. 

"Jesus." Knight looked up from his laptop. "What the hell?"

"Shh."

They sat together in silence as the vibrations subsided. Then, another thunderous rattling nudged the ship to and fro. "Seismic charges," she said, confirming his fear. "Don't worry. They're a few miles off."

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…" he barely sung it, voice low and mirthless.

"Bright copper kettles and warm whollen mittens." She smiled faintly.

A few more detonations in the distance interrupted their sober von Trapp duet, and David poked his head in.

"Captain, your orders?"

Trinity's eyes narrowed as she thought about it. "They don't know where we are."

"Ma'am?"

"They're trying to scare us out," she said evenly. "Stupid sons of bitches are not only trying to kill me; now they're insulting my intelligence."

"So we're staying?" the co-pilot confirmed.

"Yes. Keep running sensor sweeps of the area, though. Let me know if they start getting warmer. Arrogance doesn't preclude them from dumb luck."

Trinity then turned back to her tea, and took a long sip. She looked at him, seemed to be studying him. "You miss her," she concluded softly.

Knight nodded, heart in his throat. How did she always know?

The lights in the mess hall flickered, and then suddenly died, leaving only his computer screen to illuminate the room. The ghostly blue glow made Trinity look even more washed out than she already was, the shadows on her face betraying her age and everything she'd been through in the past few weeks.

Knight didn't want to mention it in his letter to Rorie, but he was worried about her. Worried about both of them. Trinity and Neo weren't sleeping, Neo because he refused to leave the Matrix, and Trinity because she was left with the unenviable responsibility of keeping the Neb clear of sentinels long enough for him to do his job. But Trinity answered the challenge with remarkable ingenuity, rewiring their power distribution system to boost the range of the external sensors. If they were detected, she could give Neo up to ten minutes to get to an exit, which was about nine minutes and fifty eight seconds more than he needed.

And yet these days Neo had begun to cut it very close, so much so that once Trinity had ended up with her finger on the EMP just as he reached the exit. He made it out with only a fraction of a moment to spare, with their hull breeched and two pads disabled. Hands shaking, Trinity had practically yanked the needle out of his skull, eyes ablaze with a mixture of terror and angry, blue fire. And they didn't say a word to each other; Trinity just stared at him with incredulity, as if to ask why in God's name he'd put her through something like that. It really wasn't necessary. If anyone could take care of themselves, after all, it was the Great and Powerful Wizardress of Oz, Synergy.

Ever since then, the tension between them had been palpable. They never openly showed it in front of the crew, but Knight had known them long enough to tell something was wrong. Perhaps it was the stress, or their lack of time alone together that had done it, but with every passing day, they became more isolated. There were times when Knight would watch them together, and Neo could hardly look at her in the eye. The intimacy between them had evaporated, and it was only now that it became evident how much strength they'd drawn from each other in the past. Separated, they were tired, unhappy, and strangely… _haunted_.

The talk around the ship centered mostly around Neo, whose preoccupation with doing his duty on the virtual front had gone well beyond what any of them considered reasonable. In fact, Knight's unexpressed opinion was that Neo had become downright obsessed, though he was the last person to pass judgement on the man who was the closest thing to a father he'd ever had. But Neo's behaviour had caught the attention of the others as well, and although the crew hesitated to voice their concerns, they often didn't have to. They could all see for themselves.

A few days ago Hawk-Eye had come to the core to check on him, having been concerned for some time about the effects of his being plugged in so long. The kind of hours he was putting in were unprecedented, and it had happened more than once that Neo's mind had begun to reject the programming, leaving him dizzy and disoriented in the middle of a fight. He denied it of course, but Hawk-Eye could see it from the biosensor readings. It was too much for him.

"He's been in there for seven hours now," Kirk hadreported to the doctor, trying to sound casual as he rubbed his eyes and refocused on the screen.

"Will the goddamned agents ever give up?" Knight mumbled.

"Well, that's just it. There aren't any left. He and Smith cleared the last wave over an hour ago. Now he's just…" and Kirk trailed off, not knowing what to say. "_Talking_."

"Talking? With Smith? That's new. He can barely stand to look at the guy."

"No. He's talking with Synergy."

Knight squinted to make out the code. Synergy's pattern of symbols tended to warp everything around her, as if she possessed some kind of strange, digital gravity. Much of the time, she'd cleverly disappear behind some hidden back door, and they couldn't read her at all. And it wasn't unusual for her to take Neo with her.

"It looks like they're in the mountains," Kirk pointed out. "God knows how they got there so fast. I've given up trying to figure her out. She just… _is_ the code."

Knight shook his head. "Why would they go to the mountains? To talk?"

Kirk shrugged, and then lowered his voice. "They go there a lot."

Nobody spoke as Hawk-Eye hooked Neo up to a sugar saline solution to prevent dehydration and hypoglycaemia. She took note of his vital signs, and commented softly, "Well, at least his pulse is down. Blood pressure's still not good."

"Kirk, can you clean this image up anymore? Cut through the interference so we see just the two of them?" Knight asked.

"Yeah, I'll try."

He reached out and magnified the small cluster of anomalous code, then typed quickly on the keyboard. Slowly, the image came into focus, and when it did, neither of them knew what to say. Neo and Synergyweren't talking, they were _embracing_. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, her tiny frame resting against his chest.

"How's he doing?"

They both jumped, spinning around to see Trinity join them. Her eyes fell onto the screen, and her face suddenly turned expressionless. Kirk closed the window. "It's a really bad image, Captain," he said apologetically. "It's hard to read anything clearly."

She nodded. "Well, keep trying. Stay on top of it."

And then she was gone, and didn't return to the core for the rest of the evening.

The crew respected them too much to gossip about it. And the truth was, Knight didn't believe for a moment that it was what it looked like. Synergy was stunningly beautiful and gifted beyond reason, but she was not Trinity. And if there was one thing that Knight was sure of, it was Neo's love for only one woman (to say he idolized Neo would be a stretch, but he certainly respected him, and could not imagine his ever behaving so dishonourably).

What Trinity believed, however, was unclear. She'd become very quiet, but worked harder than any of them combined, never wavering from her mission of keeping them all safe, Neo above all. She'd jacked in several times when he ran into trouble, as she was quite good at killing large troops of law enforcement before they could mutate into agents, and this would slow down the onslaught long enough to give Neo and the other rebel fighters a chance. They still fought well together, instinctively shadowing and moving in a graceful synchrony that was the stuff of legends in Zion. But outside the Matrix, Neo and Trinity remained quietly alienated.

Then yesterday, Knight had heard her calling out in her room. It was a muffled wail, heard through the thin wall that separated their cabins, and it didn't sound at all like her. 'Thank God they're finally having an argument,' was his first thought, though he couldn't hear Neo's voice at all. It was only Trinity, mumbling, moaning incoherently. _Lamenting_ the syllables. Then, he heard one word clearly, _Rorie_.

In all his years of being close to Trinity, he'd never seen her cry. She wasn't the type of person who cried, not outwardly. Trinity and her daughter were very different that way. So he almost didn't believe his ears when he pushed his head to the wall, hearing what was unquestionably anguished weeping. _"Rorie, oh… God, no. Not again… please…my poor little girl." _

He probably should have let it go, went back to bed and minded his own business. But Knight couldn't, his compassion was too great and his care for Trinity too fundamentally instilled as part of who he was for him to ignore it. He knocked softly on her door, and called her name several times before opening it, just a crack, to make sure he was not intruding into a conjugal nightmare.

But he needn't have worried, because the room was dark and Trinity was in an otherwise empty bed, asleep and thrashing her head back and forth on the pillow. She was dreaming, and what horrors of her subconscious were giving her this much grief he couldn't begin to imagine, because she was visibly shaking, and called Rorie's name again, this time with such terror that it struck Knight's soul to the core.

"Trin," he called out, hesitant to enter her bedroom, which he'd never do under any other circumstances. "Trinity!"

But she didn't respond, and Knight resolved that he had to wake her; his heart was aching with her pain. She was remarkably strong, even in sleep, and he had to forcefully wrestle with her to shake her awake. Both her wrists in his hands, Knight called her name again as she screamed and opened her eyes, blinking several times before she could place herself. And tears poured from her eyes.

He released her instantly, feeling awkward and embarassed as she turned her face away and wiped her cheeks.

"Oh, God," she choked. "Oh, no."

He picked her covers off the floor and handed them to her, and Trinity used them to wrap around her chest, covering the thin undershirt she was wearing. He was about to leave her, was about to apologise, or ask if she would be alright, but instead, another question come out of his mouth automatically, "What can I do, Trin?"

There was some sort of unspoken understanding between them in that moment, there must have been, because he intuitively knew her answer before she said it.

"Just… don't let anything happen to her," she whispered in the dark. "Knight, promise me you'll take care of her. Always."

"Yes, of course. I promise." Their eyes locked. "Forever."

And she sighed, nodded, as if in relief, or gratitude.

They hadn't spoken about it since, and it was probably true to say that they never would. There really wasn't anything else to say. He was in love with Rorie. Completely and hopelessly in love with her, and he had been for weeks. Specifically, he'd loved her for twenty one days of such cruel separation, he found himself wondering how he'd ever been without her. And somehow Trinity knew his suffering. But what was even more miraculous to him was that the infamously protective mother had decided toallow him what she no doubt considered the privilege of pining for her daughter.

He could only prey that Rorie hadn't inherited her mother's uncanny talent for reading his thoughts. Although, upon rereading his letters to her, Knight could hardly imagine he sounded like anything but the lovesick soldier that he was, writing home to the beautiful princess, begging her to wait for his safe return. In particular, the _'My Rorie'_ salutation sounded particularly presumptuous, so he tactfully changed it. But the truth was, that was how he thought of her. As his. As much as he was hers, if only she would have him.

The sentinels had not given up, wrenching Knight's attention from Rorie to the mess hall, back to Trinity's knowing eyes. He checked his watch and sighed.

"Don't worry," she said softly, rising from her seat and putting a hand on his shoulder. "There's time."

* * *


	28. Chapter 24&25

**_a/n: well, here it is... the chapter I know many of you have been waiting for .It has been through the editing machine again and again... so many times that I have lost all perspective. So I leave it to my esteemed Readers...I hope you enjoy._**

**_And thanks as always to everyone who continues to review. All the best& love- Syd._****_

* * *

_**

**_Chapter 24  
_****_someone to watch over me (2)_**

Knight would never forget how beautiful she'd looked in that moment, face lit by the moon, starlight sparkling in her eyes. It was just as he'd claimed the first time he'd seen her, '_les yeux comme des étoiles.' _Only this time, she wasn't a melancholy child gazing at him in sleepy distaste. Rorie was a woman, a scientist, an explorer who had journeyed from afar to discover a new world. And as she stepped off her ship onto the earthen soil of Genesis, sublimely wonderstruck as he knew she would be, Knight felt himself fall in love with her all over again.

She didn't notice him right away, head arched up towards the heavens, a beatific smile gracing her lips. The cold had bitten at Rorie's cheeks, giving her skin a slightly blushed hue, and a breeze blew through loose hair that had come undone from her bun. Knight wouldn't notice the tailored navy blue uniform until later, not until after he had finished basking in her joy, and in his own, at having seen her at long last. At being close enough to reach out and touch her, finally.

When Rorie saw him she began to cry, and covered her mouth with her hand. Sobbing, she threw her arms around him so tightly, he was able to lift her from the ground and spin her around with such enthusiasm, they both burst into laughter. She seemed to want to examine him, to look him over thoroughly, eyes and hands all over his face, chest and arms, either to prove that she wasn't dreaming, or to check that he hadn't been hurt; Knight couldn't tell which. But when Rorie finished she seemed immensely satisfied with whatever she'd found, and hugged him again, this time less fiercely, her head under his chin, nestled under the palm of his hand. He could feel her heartbeat, and it was racing, her eyes closed tight as she let him hold her for a very long time.

But a crowd had gathered around them, and Knight was forced to let her go, as Rorie was greeted in the shipyard by several council members who extended offerings of flowers and fruit, 'welcoming her on behalf of the people of Zion.' She accepted the gifts graciously, as she always did, though Knight could tell she was a little bewildered by the entourage. Her first inquiry (once she was allowed a word in edgewise) was about her parents, who were both on their way, having been on the other end of the settlement when they heard she'd arrived.

Trinity, in fact, broke into a run when she saw the gathering. After squeezing through sheaves of people to reach her daughter, she practically collided with Rorie in a hug, and it was probably safe to say that only Knight knew just how much that embrace meant to both women. Especially to Trinity, whose chilling nightmare was still fresh in his mind, her angst-filled voice ringing in his ears. Poor Trin. He couldn't begin to imagine how she was coping with everything. Often, he had the impulse to drug her coffee with benzodiazepines so she'd get some rest, if only for a few hours. They could all use it, he thought, after what they'd been through.

But it was not to be. In the true spirit of Zionist _joie de vivre_, Genesis frowned upon people who slept at night. Especially returning war heroes (it was said that if the sentinels didn't kill you, the homecoming parties certainly would). Though tonight, The Daughter of The One was to be the celebrated guest of honor. The dancing and revelry at the waterfront was already well underway, where Rorie was serenaded with traditional music and presented with strange new delicacies - bitter berries served in the mouths of orchids, sweet sorbet floating in glasses of chilled liqueur, chocolate fudge wrapped in mint-leaves. But most enchanting to everyone was the spectacular view of the lake, which twinkled with hundreds of tiny flames. Upon closer inspection, the dazzling visual was achieved by candles fastened to makeshift rafts carved from wood, which had been set afloat to welcome Neo, Trinity and their daughter to the surface.

Rorie watched her first sunrise from the rocky shore, leaning back against her father's chest, his arms around her in a strikingly protective gesture. The sky seemed especially enthusiastic that morning, though perhaps Knight was only imagining it, that the brilliant spirals of green and fuchsia skating across the sky were actually more vivid this time. Certainly, his imagination was responsible for _many_ strange sights, because he could have sworn that as Rorie stood securely in Neo's embrace, a swarm of golden lightning bugs sparkled around her body, gently resting on her shoulders and the gossamers of her hair. Like a crown, or a halo. And it was this kind of magic that gave Knight a glimmer of hope that perhaps, there was an end to this war in sight, after all.

Strangely inspired to romance her, he strayed from the party at one point, wading through the knee-deep crystal water to pluck a lily from its stem. Granted, Knight felt a little foolish doing it now, only because Rorie had access to an entire forest of flowers, and in fact, one of the bouquets handed to her by the councilors had been composed wholly of white and purple lilies. But it seemed like the thing to do; he wanted to surprise her again and put it in her hair, to remind her of their last night together. To remind her of the night he'd fallen in love, even if she had not realized it.

But it was more than a little embarrassing when he glanced up and saw Rorie standing on the shore, watching him wrestle gracelessly with the flower's strong, slippery stem. She was smiling, and had raised an eyebrow. _'Smooth,'_ Knight thought to himself, feeling his face burn. He did something stupid, like shrug with his palms up, and then took out his pocket-knife to make swift work of the plant that had just humiliated him.

"Stay there," she hollered. "I'm coming."

Rorie removed her boots and gathered her pants around her knees. She met him in a cluster of lily pads, and again, Knight was certain the fireflies were following her.

"It's cold," she said, running her fingers over the sparkling the surface. "And... _wet_. Much wetter than the water in Zion. I'm very impressed."

They both laughed, and she accepted his gift into the braided bun on top of her head. "_Une fleur pour La Fleur."_

The music was still playing and the fiddler had just shifted into the slow melody of a Zionist wartime ballad. Closing time.

"Would you like to dance, Rorie?" Knight heard himself say, with a suave tone he didn't know he had.

She started and blinked once, brown eyes mildly alarmed. But he already had her hand in his, and submerged as she was, Rorie could hardly move away. She nodded, and he took her to him, privately reveling in how lovely she felt, falling deeper by the moment. Or perhaps it was sinking deeper. The lakebed was slimy and porous, and try as they may, it was impossible to move their feet smoothly through the sludge. She clutched his shoulders to keep her balance, and after some adjustment they settled for swaying slowly, her arms around his neck, both of them descending into silence. They danced for awhile, and little by little he found himself leaning in closer, hands pressing to the small of her back, thumb subtly stroking. She seemed to snuggle up to him at this, and rested her head on his shoulder. He rubbed a circle on her back. And she spun her finger around a curl in his hair.

He could sense that she was aware of their unspoken conversation; Rorie knew him too well not to notice how he'd changed. And he knew her too well not to realize that she had, too. She let herself melt into him, her body and his connecting in what seemed to be an unspoken agreement which he couldn't ignore or deny. Knight turned his head and brushed his lips to her ear, and whispered her name, like a question, like a plea.

Neither of them saw it coming; they must have been deaf and blind to everything but each other. The splash drenched her completely, educing a surprised screech as an equally gobsmacked soldier emerged from the lake, gasping and glaring back at the group of friends who'd tossed him in. They hooted and pointed, bending over and hugging themselves in glee, until they saw that they'd also soaked Neo's daughter, at which point they looked around nervously. They yelled their best apologies, and one ran as fast as he could for a towel.

"You're alright?" Knight asked, as Rorie rung her shirt, blushing furiously.

"Mmm," was all she offered, not looking at him. Then she forced a laugh. "Definitely wetter than in Zion."

"You know where your quarters are?"

She fumbled for a moment as they stepped onto the shore, eyes still everywhere but on him. "It's uhm…" she took a magnetic security pass from her pocket and read the back. "Oh, God. It's in a cluster called… _Trinity's India_."

He chuckled. "Sorry. That's my fault."

"Hum?"

"Once, when we docked to charge, I had a few drinks at the canteen and started referring to your mom as '_Captain Columbus'_. After that, everyone here began calling her that. And now the planners must have picked up on it. Don't tell Trin I started the whole thing, though. I've been denying it for weeks."

Indeed, if anything, Trinity should have been flattered. Her _India _consisted of a handful of comfortably spaced wood-metal hybrid residences, all rather large compared to Zionist homes, and certainly the finest accommodations in Genesis. Most generals and councilors were assigned here (not to mention the Columbuses themselves), and as Knight carried her luggage along the serene trail, Rorie commented that she'd filed for housing in the scientific district, but had been _reassigned_. Baines probably had something to do with it, she claimed dryly, because he most likely thought he'd earn points for the favor.

And what a favor. Her private cabin was nestled in a cluster of silver birches, and faced the water to offer a view of the surrounding mountains. And when Rorie opened the door, both of them fell silent and gaped, open-mouthed, at what they found. The main room was sparsely furnished in the usual metal desk, table, and bed, but every visible surface was covered with some of the most exquisite gifts either of them had ever seen. Exotic flowers seemed to be the most popular offering, with bouquets of ivory orchids, scarlet pimpernels and blue phlox scenting the room in a subtle perfume, brightening the cozy space with every color imaginable. On the floor by their feet were baskets of rose petals and pomegranate seeds, over which Rorie nearly tripped in her amazement. She said nothing as she marveled at the festoons of richly dyed fabrics draped over the windows and heaps of overstuffed pillows on the bed.

They were birthday gifts, in keeping with the Zionist tradition of honoring a young lady's eighteenth year as cause for great ceremony. Culturally, she was becoming a woman, and there were many rituals and symbolic offerings associated with the occasion. Gift-giving was commonplace, but in Rorie's case, rather excessive.

"I think I found the frankincense," Knight quipped, isolating a corner of free space to set down the fragile laboratory equipment that she hadn't trusted with the general maintenance crews.

Rorie was hardly listening. She was standing by a full-length mirror, reaching out to touch what was undoubtedly the most magnificent item in the room. It was a long, empire waist gown, made of a material so foreign, he couldn't readily identify it. Perhaps raw silk? It was pure white, decorated with golden beads and tiny crystals around the breast. It reminded Knight of a photograph he'd seen of Trinity in her wedding dress, a deep blue gown that had the same weightless grace to it. Rorie's was the Genesist version, created to rest on the shoulders of nothing but the apex of Zionist nobility.

She read the card that accompanied it. "It's from my parents. For the coming-out ceremony next week."

"It's beautiful."

"I told them not to." She ran her hands over the fabric. "I can't imagine wearing it."

"I can."

She looked up at him, and neither said a word. Knight could feel the gravity of the moment weighing down on his shoulders, and he could tell she was conscious of it, too. They were finally alone. And it could not have been more surreal, in what could have passed for an empress' dressing room, rather than in their usual surroundings of a laboratory or a shipyard. But none of it mattered. All Knight could see was her.

They were tense, expecting, wondering which one of them was going to begin, which one of them would be the first to speak, to venture into the unknown. Rorie's clothes were still a little damp from the incident at the lake, but she didn't make any move to excuse herself to change. And Knight wasn't going to suggest it. Both of them knew that wasn't the real reason they'd come here.

Feeling obliged as the male, he opened his mouth to speak, to stammer tactlessly goodness knows what, when Rorie's soft, careful words saved him from the folly.

"I got your last letter," she said, letting out a sigh and closing her eyes for a long beat. He knew that sequence of gestures. She'd made some sort of decision. "I wrote you back…"

His mouth was dry. "You did?"

"I didn't send it. I didn't know if I wanted to. Or… I guess I didn't know if you wanted me to." She laughed nervously and looked at her hands. "But... now that you're here, Knight… and, the way you look at me... somehow, I'm not afraid anymore."

He couldn't move, frozen in place as his heart caught in his throat, wondering at her meaning. She opened her messenger bag and retrieved a laboratory notebook, opening it at a place marked by a dried lily, its petals pressed and flaking away. She caught his eyes one last time before looking down at the page, and her hands shook a little as she read,

"_Dearest Knight,_

_A dam has broken in me, and that which circumstance prevents me from speaking, let it flow from my heart to my fingertips to this sheet of paper, to you. Only to you, who will keep it safe forever; I trust that completely. Keep it as a guarded secret between two lifelong friends, or as a treasured gift of something much more. But either way, Knight, as you endure the perils of war in the cold, unyielding darkness, you should know that somewhere, very far away, I have been thinking of you. _

_Know that if my tears could bring you home, we would have been reunited long ago. Know that if the depth of my feeling could move the hearts of man and machine, then nothing would remain but peace. But I possess none of this magic, and who I am, all that I have become, all achieved with the blessing of your boundless friendship, I fear will crumble and rot away if you do not return safely to me. I cannot continue alone, Knight. I'm… lost. And I'm frightened… because, you see, I cannot live without you. My dearest friend... my only love..." _

It was here that she looked up, voice broken with emotion, unable to continue as Knight rediscovered sensation in his legs enough to rush across the room and take her in his arms. She gasped at the force with which he swept her up for the second time in so many hours, this time completely overcome, whispering her name into her ear, "_Rorie_… _my Rorie_."

At hearing this she laughed through her sobs, and the sound of it brought similar gasps of joy from him, so much so that their first kisses were barely maintained in the exchange of involuntary giggles and chuckles, until finally their lips met in earnest. He held the back of her head and cradled her jaw as they drew each other in deeper and deeper, locked together tightly, nearly desperately. But it wasn't enough; nothing could be enough to express what he felt, how much he adored her. So when Rorie broke away to catch her breath, he pulled her still closer and pressed his lips against the delicate contours of her cheekbones, her eyelids and lashes, up to her forehead and into her hair.

"Aurora. I've thought of nothing but you," Knight said onto the crown of her head. "All of you, since we've been apart. Every night, every morning… I'm yours, believe me. Forever. I love you. Do you hear me? _I love you_."

Rorie half laughed, half cried as she gazed up to meet his eyes. She was tearful but smiling, and for a moment it looked as if she were about to say something. But thinking better of it, she stopped herself, and took his face in her hands. Gently, she guided him down to her, pressing his mouth to hers, parting her lips to find her place, to fit herself to him perfectly. Rorie kissed him as a princess would kiss a knight, with reverent passion and soft, delicate intensity, showing neither wantonness nor reservation as her heat wrapped around them both like a velvet cloak. And with this noble embrace, intended to serve as a substitute for words neither of them could find, Knight gained boundless understanding.

Rorie didn't have to tell him that she loved him as much as he loved her. He could tell. He could tell she'd missed him so much it hurt, and he could tell she'd gone to bed thinking of him, reading and rereading his letters. And with that came faith. Faith that everything he wanted to give her, all his love and trust and devotion, would be cherished, kept safe, and reciprocated in kind. And faith that for the rest of his life, that would be enough.

Knight kissed her back, again and again, hoping she understood him as he did her, silently promising them both that somehow, he'd find some way to earn this gift. This graceful, dainty treasure in his arms, this ethereal beauty who knew him better than he knew himself, who had been his best friend for as far back as he cared to remember…

"Knight." The sound of his own name seemed to come from very far away, whispered so faintly he almost didn't hear it.

"Yes?"

"Can we sit and talk a little?" she asked, nudging him towards the bed. "I've missed the sound of your voice."

He smiled. This angel _missed the sound of his voice_. "I'll talk myself hoarse. Anything for you."

She chuckled, beaming as she took his hands, pulling him down with her onto a mattress so soft, it felt as though they'd sink right through. Rorie seemed as impressed as he was by it, grinning as she tentatively pressed her palms into the surface, running her fingers over the hand stitched coverlet. "They expect me to sleep on this? I'll never be able to get up..."

"Good. You can take the couch," he teased, leaning back onto the fluffy blankets as if to make claim to the territory. Rorie raised her eyebrows, and hesitated for only a moment before joining him, shifting onto her side and placing her head on his shoulder, hand on his chest.

"Or, we could share." Knight wrapped an arm around her. "Yes?"

"Yes." She snuggled closer. "One hundred times, yes."

Knight lost track of the time after that, as they lay together, just talking. They needed to talk, to reveal everything they'd held back in their correspondence, and to decode all the loosely disguised declarations of affection they'd each slipped into their letters. They laughed a little, and kissed quite a bit, bodies entwined by the time the conversation strayed to more general things. It didn't take long for Rorie to begin discussing her research, and as she described how she'd documented the life cycles of over a dozen species and subspecies of insects, Knight slowly unbraided her bun. He removed the fresh lily and placed it on the nightstand next to the dried one, then proceeded to comb through the crimpled locks with his fingers, losing his hands in cascades of jet black hair.

He could have stayed like this forever with her, just listening and touching, his hands lightly wandering over her curves. But somewhere along the way his fatigue caught up to him, and though Rorie was never boring, her voice was like a lullaby. Knight found himself drifting off several times before she eventually noticed, before his eyes fluttered open to the sensation of her fingertips brushing curls from his forehead. "Knight?"

"Yes, I'm listening. Ashen moths."

"No. That was ten minutes ago."

"I'm sorry."

She smiled. "It's alright. I like watching you sleep."

"Mmm. I noticed. That morning, on the couch? That's what you were doing, wasn't it?"

"Well, I couldn't look away," she admitted gingerly. "You were so adorable. Mummified in the blankets, curled up into the fetal position, like the cocooning stage of a prepubescent glow worm."

He chuckled and reached over her to take the edge of the comforter, pulling it snugly around them both. "Or in this case, _two_ glow worms."

"How romantic."

"Oh? Is this how glow worms mate? Male encapsulates female?"

"Knight, glow worms are hermaphrodites. If you were listening to me earlier, you'd know that."

They laughed, and he wrapped them in the covers from his side to complete construction of their cocoon. Perhaps it was presumptuous, but it felt like the natural thing to do. He couldn't keep his eyes open, but neither could he bare separation. After weeks of falling asleep to the sound of distant explosions, Knight needed her company as much as he needed the rest. Rorie seemed to understand, and quietly held him close, just as he had done for her on the first night they'd met. Like they'd come full-circle, he thought. As if they were completing a nine year journey to _this_. To each other.

He was home. That's all Knight could think as he drifted off in her arms. Finally, he was home.

* * *

_**Chapter 25  
**_**_someone to watch over me (3)_**

* * *

"Knight." 

"Hm?"

"Tell me this isn't a dream."

He grinned, amused by the irony of a free-born asking a red-pill for a reality check. "This isn't a dream."

Rorie shifted under the covers in the glow of the afternoon sunlight, turning her head to kiss his neck, one hand finding bare skin beneath his top. "Are you sure?" she asked sweetly. "How can you tell the difference?"

He chuckled, thinking that this sounded very much like one of Captain Trinity's rhetorical pop quizzes. "Are you _teasing_ me, Aurora-fair? Is this how things are going to be from now on?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly, fingers blindly exploring his chest. "Haven't I always teased you?"

Knight turned onto his side to face her, momentarily taken by how beautiful she was, loose hair messily gathered around her face, eyelids still heavy from sleep. "Yes, you have," he replied softly, brushing a few locks back behind her ear. "I guess there are some things that will never change."

"I was so afraid that _everything_ would change," she whispered. "I was terrified of losing our friendship. But at the same time, I couldn't help wanting something more. I was so confused."

"And now?"

"Now, it's as if none of that even happened. I can't even remember what it felt like, to think of you as only a friend. Isn't that so strange, Knight?"

"I love you."

"Well, that's a non sequitur," she chirped. "Were you even _listening_? Or has your chronic narcolepsy caught up with you again?"

"I _love_ you." He smiled. "And before you start throwing all those geeky words at me again, no, that wasn't a _non sequitur_. It's just what I'm thinking, which is about one one-millionth of what I'm feeling. I'd be more articulate, but no other words come to mind."

In truth, it was only with a great deal of effort that Knight was keeping his hands off her. She'd woken him up with kisses and a little bit of hair-pulling, a playful mixture of the new and old that had ended with her pinned below him on the mattress, giggling against his lips. Then _she'd_ asked _him_ if they were dreaming (as if _she_ were the one living _her_ fantasy!)… stroking his chest with those soft fingers, purring into his ear. And with every intimate secret that Rorie confessed to him, it was like she was telling him about himself. _His_ hopes, _his_ fears, _his_ desires. Knight had never imagined he could feel this close to anyone. Even her obnoxiously sophisticated vocabulary was arousing, because it was so much like _her_.

So when she kissed him, deeply and slowly, Knight could not suppress a small gasp at the contact, his body all tension, feeling and heat. Reflexively, he pushed against her, and Rorie responded with a barely audible whimper, finding his lower lip and nibbling gently, which nearly sent him over the edge of complete madness. And as their tongues met, legs entangling under the covers, he rubbed circles on her hips, wanting more than anything to touch her more intimately, but knowing it was too soon. He knew that with her, he wouldn't be able to stop. "_Rorie_."

"I know," she breathed back, sliding her hand out from under his shirt and resting her forehead on his. "I know. I'm sorry… I don't… I don't know yet."

"It's okay. Neither do I."

She sighed, and seemed to struggle a little with her next question, "How long do we have?"

"Five days shore leave. The Neb will be back every couple of weeks to recharge."

She held him tighter. "Oh, no. Knight... _no_."

"Just don't think about it. Not right now."

"I can't lose you."

There was such angst in her voice, and he couldn't bear to hear it. Knight found her hands squeezed them in reassurance. "You're not gonna lose me. I promise." She smiled faintly at this, and he nudged her shoulder. "You know, I have some pull with the captain. So maybe I could arrange for a few extra days' vacation."

This had the desired effect, and Rorie chuckled, albeit only half-heartedly. "Oh, my _God_. _My mother_."

"What?"

"I'm just thinking. You are in _so._ _much_. _trouble_."

"I wouldn't be so sure," he said. "I spent the past nine years seducing _Trin_ so I could eventually have _you_. And I think I may have actually pulled it off. It must be genetic, you know? The women of this family really dig the Knight."

"Funny. You say that to my father's face, and I'll bet he would also really _dig_ you."

"_Dig_ me… a shallow grave, right?"

They laughed as she nodded. "You remember that night at the dock? You had me over your shoulder… I told you to put me down, and then he shows up and says…"

"_I suggest you do as the lady says,"_ they recalled together, andKnight winced and shook his head.

"On second thought, maybe we could try and keep this a _secret_ courtship? For my sake."

"Well, good luck with that," she said, patting him on the shoulder in mock sympathy and rising from the bed. "You know what people say about my father. He's omniscient."

Knight frowned as he watched her walk over to the window, running a brush through her hair. If only that legend about The One were true. But in reality, he'd never seen Neo more lost. And he hoped that Rorie hadn't heard the worst of the fleet gossip which speculated as to why her parents were so aloof. Knight felt sick. He hoped even harder that _Trinity_ hadn't heard the worst of it. The truth was bad enough. Never mind the truth with juicy embellishments.

"Now I _know_ you aren't listening."

"Hum?"

Rorie was braiding her hair over her shoulder. "I said you owe me a trip to the lookout. I was thinking we could hike up tonight. Just you, me, one of these fruit baskets, and a telescope."

"You have a telescope?"

"Uh-huh. I've been very busy. I built it using scraps from the dock, and I can't wait to see if it works. I plan to use it to remap the sky… see what kind of cosmic events have transpired in the past six hundred years that we missed. You have to figure, in terms of stellar cartography, humanity has a lot of catching up to do."

Knight got up and took her in his arms, thinking that this was the geekiest, _Roriest_, most romantic first date he could imagine. "One thing, though. Deadbolt's giving a briefing at eighteen hundred. I have to go."

"It's fine. I'll head up early and set up before it gets dark. Meet me when you're done."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, it's probably all for the better, anyhow. I'll actually get some _work_ done this way, before you show up and begin _distracting_ me." She kissed him quickly and then checked her watch. "I'm getting a walking tour of the manmade trails this afternoon. So if I hurry, I can organize my bench and then the botanists can guide me up. Yes?"

"Yes."

She stared at him, and he at her, until she rolled her eyes and scoffed. "So you need to let me _go_, soldier."

"Oh." He grinned boyishly and feigned embarrassment as she slipped free. "Sorry, Rors."

"Do I get a vote for the pet name?"

"I suppose."

"You had it right earlier. Aurora-fair. I like the way you say my full name."

"Alright. _Aurora-fair_."

"That's better. Now go, so I can shower." She smiled, her eyes sparkling at him as she lifted her wrinkled navy top over her head, leaving her in a white, sleeveless undershirt. Knight couldn't help himself, and pulled her over to him, placing a few kisses on her shoulders, delighted to mark some new territory. It was only with a great deal of effort that Rorie was able to get him out the door, at which point he proceeded to drag her out with him, stumbling over the uneven ground with their lips still locked. She squeaked as he held her tightly in the afternoon sunlight, and it was only when Rorie waved over his shoulder with surprise and yelled, 'Oh, hi, Daddy!' that Knight was distracted long enough for her to slip free and race back inside.

As he looked about with alarm, Rorie laughed at him from the window, and tossed him her extra security card. "You're bringing the food. _Don't_ forget. Or I'll go have a mother-daughter chat with _Captain Columbus... _and do you know what she does when she gets angry?"

"No."

Rorie grinned. "Neither does anyone else. Nobody's ever survived to tell the story."

* * *


	29. Chapter 26

_**

* * *

**_

_**Chapter 26**_

Dressed impeccably in a black suit by Armani, Smith watched Synergy schmooze around the ballroom, laughing, smiling, and drowning her guests in an intoxicating mixture of champagne and flattery. It was half past midnight and everything was going swimmingly. The way she held back her bare shoulders, the slope of that long neck, the upward tilt of her chin, it was all perfect. Beautiful, gracious, powerful, and dripping with sex appeal. In short, she was political dynamite. It was almost as if people didn't notice she was _human_. The Exiles, or as Synergy secretly liked to call them_, 'the Sheep_,' absolutely loved her. Smith chuckled. That those who opposed Synergy typically ended up decompiled or worse might have something to do with her popularity. And who was to thank for that? Nobody but the best assassin in the business.

Smith sipped his single malt scotch and straightened his tie, suddenly filled with great professional pride. It felt good to be feared again. So what if he wasn't killing humans? In many ways, hunting down agents and peacekeepers was even more rewarding. And more challenging, even with the upgrades Synergy had arranged for him. Certainly, at the end of the day it was all worth it. They were _the_ power couple (Merv and Persephone _who_?), and programs came from near a far to pay them homage.

Synergy caught his eye from across the room as she slid her arm through that of her next dance partner. Smith knew the man well, an ambassador from the outside. He represented a smaller city called Abl3, located in what used to be Europe, far from the outskirts of 01. Apparently the two machine nations had been bickering for decades about their claim over the fields, and like many satellite cities, Abl3 had decided it wanted to be 'the first to embrace the new order.' Synergy knew well most of the populace was starving. She'd planned it that way, in fact, hoping to divide the already fragmented machine network. But neither of them had expected her tactics to be so gloriously successful.

On their way to the dance floor, Synergy and her new best friend stopped for a brief introduction.

"Darling," she greeted him with a million megawatt smile that he knew was costing her. There was something in her eyes that told him she was having a terrible time. "I'd like you to meet the most charming man at the party. Besides you, of course."

"Of course."

"This is Goa. From the North-western Coalition?"

"I know who he is. After all, you've spoken of nothing but the poor citizens of Abl3 for weeks now. You worry too much, my dear. You see, he is fine."

"I'm afraid my people are much less fortunate," the concerned diplomat replied gravely. "My family as well. My children..."

Synergy sighed her version of sympathy. "Oh, I know. What a dreadful thing civil war is. The longer 01 drags this conflict out, the more innocents with continue to suffer. What can any of us do to combat such stubbornness?"

"We are more than eager to offer our support in the North. Though we don't have much of an army, our men are brave," Goa answered. "But we need energy."

"Of course you do." Synergy's lip curled. "And you'll find that upon your return, the reserves in the city core will have been completely replenished. My rebels are seeing to it as we speak."

He seemed momentarily stunned, staring at her with incredulity. Synergy looked back, raising her eyebrows as if seeing nothing miraculous about the gift. "Thank you," he managed. "Thank you, Holy _Santa_. How can we repay this kindness?"

He kissed her hand, and as he bent over, Synergy lightly touched the back of his head. "There is no recompense among friends, Goa. And do not worry; never again will your nation know the misery of famine. Let 01 have the crops, of which they've made you _beg _your fair share for centuries! It will be their undoing."

Smith suppressed the sudden urge to yank her over to him and kiss those honeyed words from her lips. A few years ago, the machine populace would self-destruct before defying The Source. Now they were disconnecting themselves from the mainframe _en masse_, embracing what was becoming not just a military cause, but a new religion. Smith wouldn't have believed it possible, but she'd even redeemed _him_. He was respected. Even _liked, _at least in this growing circle of program and machine rebels.

"Would you mind, sir, if I danced with your beautiful fiancée?" Goa asked him. Smith's brow furrowed as he looked at Synergy, connecting with the tangled gossamer that was her twisted little mind.

_'Fiancée? I wasn't aware I'd proposed to you.'_

_'What? I left a message on your Blackberry hours ago! '_

_'You know I don't know how to work the damned thing. Why do you give me cellular phones and personal organizers when we can speak telepathically? Foolish mortal!'_

_'Don't start! You listen to me, Smith! Our love is everything good and pure and everlasting. You've turned over a new leaf. You're a good and decent program. I've saved your from your solitude and misery as a heathen virus, just as I'll elevate all machines from the debauchery of human-derived power. Our marriage will be a metaphor for the love which will both bind and liberate man and machine in our great and glorious future... Must I explain everything to you? Work with me! And smile before they suspect something! Useless program...'_

"Of course, Goa. You may dance with my lovely bride to be." Smith smiled daggars at her. "Just don't be long. The separation is difficult for us both."

As Synergy dazzled the room with her nearly sinful tango, Smith lingered in the background, snatching another drink from the tray of a waiter and guzzling the vodka faster than was humanly possible. There was something gnawing at him as watched her weightlessly move to the music, as she gazed at him over the shoulder of her partner and winked. She drove him crazy. She pushed every button he had and yet, through it all, he could do nothing but adore her. The evil, manipulative little brat was his Holy Grail and there was nothing he could do to save himself from it. From Love. He nearly choked on the thought. He'd been choking on it for a week now. How had she made him into such... a _human_?

On a sudden instinct, Smith caught his breath and reached for his gun, abandoning his contemplative self-analysis as he realized something was wrong. His eyes scanned the room, stopping on a woman, part of her face hidden by the hood of a black velvet cloak. He recognized her instantly, and when they made eye-contact, she disappeared into the surrounding crowd. A security breech. He was about to rush to Synergy, to shield her from the threat, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun around, meeting dark, exotic eyes and catching the woman firmly by the wrist, barrel of his gun pressed to her side.

"Persephone."

She looked awful. Pale as snow and thin as a branch bending against an icy winter's wind... her once monumental beauty was worn and battered with anxiety and a terrible sorrow. Smith almost felt sorry for her. "I had to see her, Smith. I _had_ to."

"And I'm sure she'll love to see you, too." He yanked her closer to him and tightened his grip. "You were foolish to come here."

"I can here to warn her. To warn both of you. My husband... he is relentless in planning his revenge. She is in danger."

Smith stared into her hollow, tired eyes. "Why are you telling me?"

"You know exactly why. She is my _daughter,_ Smith, I love her... I cannot help that. I will not stand by and see him destroy her! She won't believe me... but you, I know you understand what I mean. You must convince her to stop this. To _end _this before it's too late! Make a deal with the machines, negotiate for her safety!

"I'm sure you understand why I can't do that. I couldn't if I wanted to. She is committed." Smith sighed. "She has allied herself with Neo. She believes he will come for her."

Her lips parted, and she looked away. "If she knew what I know, things might be different. For all of us."

"What? What are you hiding?"

She shook her head. "No, not until you listen to me. If my plan works, she'll be safe, and she'll be yours. Isn't that what you want?"

Smith hesitated, studying her face for a long beat before releasing her wrist and putting his gun away. He didn't even need it. "You'll tell me now, or I'll expose you, and let your _daughter_ tear it from your lips."

The music stopped, and a round of applause praised Synergy's most recent performance. In the midst of the noise, Persephone took Smith by the arm and led them both out of the ballroom, out of sight and earshot. Their conversation was brief, after which Smith escorted her to a limousine and assigned two of his agents to see to her safe passage home. By the time he returned to the ballroom he had managed to compose himself, still hardly believing what he'd just been told. _Impossible! _

Synergy found him in the crowd and wrapped her arm around his bicep. With a light squeeze, "There you are!"

A chill ran through his body as he looked into her sparkling eyes. It couldn't be. His savior. His dark angel… was an _Anderson_?

"Smith, dear? What's the matter? You're looking at me as if I were the devil herself." She raised her hands to her cheeks in horror. "Don't tell me my mascara is smudged again! Oh, I'll just die of embarrassment!"

"No." He took a deep breath, studying in her flawlessly made-up face, her perfect features. "You're… you're beautiful."

She smiled. "I've come to ask you a favor, even though I know I don't deserve it. You're right. I've been just terrible to you, not telling you about your own engagement. A minor detail that slipped my mind. To make it up to you, I'll let you pick out the ring."

"What do you want?"

She frowned. "Very well, if you're going to be sour all night, I'll get to the point. I need you to monopolize my dance card for a little while. Look, I know you hate it but I've grown so tired of having my feet stepped on by these incompetents. Please, _save me_!"

He nodded gravely. "Yes. Yes, I'll save you."

"Oh, you're such a martyr!" she teased, delighted with the unusually small amount of effort she'd required to get a dance out of him. "Alright. I have to talk a little shop with Colonel Perón, the defector from 01's Department of Defense? But it'll only take me a few moments to… shall we say, _caress_ the information out of him? So do cut in when you see me getting board. Yes?"

She didn't wait for his response, spotting another contact entering the room. She waved, and plucked two drinks from a passing tray. He watched her disappear into the party, eyes all over the elegant curvature of her bare back flowing into the nearly transparent flare of her gown.

He flicked his cuffs and adjusted his tie, jaw set with determination. No, Synergy most certainly was _not_ an Anderson. Not anymore, anyway. She'd become so much greater than that. He'd be foolish to let a smattering of nucleotide base pairs get in his way. After all, a woman like her only came along once every six hundred years...

* * *

The dancing went on until daybreak, which wasn't unusual for one of Synergy's infamous parties. She was well-known for never standing on ceremony, and never passing on an opportunity to demonstrate her power or flaunt her popularity, and she always went a little overboard when Neo wasn't around. When she was sure he wasn't watching her. She dressed to kill, and worked the floor with the wiles of a fox and the voice of a Siren, habitually on her feet and 'absolutely delighted to finally meet you' for over twelve hours straight. But the only time when her smile ever approached one of genuine pleasure was when Smith danced with her. They always drew quite a crowd, which was as much due to the impressive footwork as their compelling physical chemistry. There were whispers among the guests that he 'played her like an instrument,' though ironically, it was usually Synergy directing the movement, manipulating his feet to suit her own interpretation of the music. Smith knew she loved the pomp and spectacle of it all, basking in the spotlight and applause like an actress at curtain-call. And although he did not share her fetish for attention, every time her he took her in his arms, bodies entwining like two serpents, he melted. Even tonight, when he was undoubtedly distracted. 

In truth, Smith's mind was working faster than his feet, and by the time the last guests left, he had run several independent retrospective analyses of the available data. In sum, it was obvious that his new fiancée's romantic interest in Mr. Anderson was not mutual. Logic dictated that the coward knew he was Synergy's father but didn't dare to tell her. Neither had he told Mrs. Anderson, whose contempt for his and Synergy's relationship ran much deeper than her husband realized (Smith had stood by and watched it fester for weeks now). Indeed, after many years of hunting Trinity in the Matrix, Smith had learned a thing or two about the stoic heroine that apparently Neo hadn't picked up on in a lifetime of loving her. Her anger, like Synergy's, was as cold and invisible as perfect ice. But when her surface finally cracked, everything in her wake would burn with flames hotter than the core of hell.

He rather liked Trinity that way. Perhaps when this was all over, he and his mother-in-law would discuss the matter over drinks at Mr. Anderson's funeral banquet.

Smith chuckled at his dark humor as he found a bottle of unopened champagne and two glasses. The hall was finally empty and he was in the mood to celebrate.

He found Synergy had already begun their after-party ritual. She was collapsed into an ottoman, shoes off, feet up, hair down, and was digging into a large bowl of _tiramisu_.

"Congratulations, my dear," he said, peeling foil off the bottleneck. "They adored you. I believe this may have been your most successful P.R. event yet." He filled both glasses and handed one to Synergy, picking up her legs to give himself room to sit, then resting her feet on his lap. "Cheers. To the future Mr. and Mrs. Smith."

She chuckled. "I knew you couldn't stay angry with me. And I'd like to take the credit for tonight's success, but I'm not so sure it wasn't the food. Here, try some of this. It's the closest to heaven either of us will ever get." She extended a spoonful of the Italian dessert to him, and he sampled it as he rubbed her feet, grinning. It was _her_ menu, so Synergy was hardly being modest.

"Mmm. Very good. What _is_ that extra _something_? The mascarpone cheese? Or arsenic?"

She smiled as if it were a compliment. "No. That must be the taste of success lingering of your palette, Mr. Smith. I have excellent news."

He felt almost giddy. "What a coincidence. I've had some interesting tidings myself tonight. You'll never guess who dropped by."

"No, no. Me first." She curled her toes with delight. "Our last assault on the 01 power core went better than I could have hoped, so much so that all their surplus energy reserves are gone. They want to sign the treaty, Smith. They are willing to negotiate."

He scowled. "Who told you this?"

"A messenger from the Source was here tonight. Did you see her? A striking woman with green eyes and blue hair?"

"No."

"Well, you had your hands full looking for assassins, as always. Were they lurking in the tapestries as I suggested?"

She was joking, but he was hardly listening to it. Something wasn't right. "Synergy. This is a highly unexpected development. I didn't anticipate this."

"Well, we didn't anticipate such overwhelming support from foreign governments. And none of them suspect a thing. It couldn't be going better. Very soon the Matrix will fall and the humans will have their freedom." She sipped her champagne, and as an afterthought, she added, "And so will you. Everything you've every dreamed of, Smith. Once I'm out, you'll be free to infect this system, and the entire machine world as well. Consider it a wedding gift, from me to you."

He didn't answer, holding her feet in his hands, suddenly very confused. What she said was true. Everything he'd ever fought for was now within his grasp, liberation from this prison and power beyond his wildest imaginings. And yet, looking at her now, he no longer wanted it. He didn't want any of it if they couldn't have it together.

"Here, you have the rest. Or it will go straight to my hips." Synergy handed him the bowl and sat up, reaching for her shoes. But as she began to put them on, he caught her by the wrist.

"Let me."

She raised an eyebrow, and Smith knelt down at her feet. Slowly, and with exacting care, he fastened the tiny straps around her ankles, deliberately caressing her legs as he worked. Her skin was paper white and as soft as rose petals as he pressed his lips to one kneecap, then the other. But when his hands slipped under the hem of her dress and over her thighs, she recoiled slightly, and touched his hair. "Smith. Why do you do this? Why do you persist?"

"Because you're mine," he replied softly, tracing the boundary between hot flesh and silky lace with his thumb. "You know that, don't you?"

"No, I'm not. And I never will be."

But she sighed as he touched her, as two of his fingers slipped inside without preamble, without resistance. The lights in the room flickered as he pushed harder, and Smith heard a few bulbs pop as she let out a gasp, leaning her head back and biting her lower lip. "Should I call the fire department, dear?" he asked, intensifying his efforts, moving with the subtle rhythm of her hips.

"I hope the ceiling comes down on your head," she managed breathlessly. He laughed, and without missing a beat Smith rose to kiss her lips, jaw, eyes... anything he could find. He didn't tease her, but nor did he rush to give her the release she needed, loving the sound of her heavy panting in his ear as she clung to him, tighter and tighter. And then the ground shook, glasses shattering and electricity blowing the remaining fuses, a violent surge which blacked-out the entire city block.

Smith held Synergy close as her body gradually relaxed against him. "What will you do?" he whispered into the darkness after a long time, as he brushed sweaty hair back from her forehead. "When this is all over, what will become of you, Synergy?"

She found his eyes, their faces only barely illuminated by the twilight. "Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers?"

"You still think you'd be happy out there? With _humans_?"

"With my own kind."

"_I'm_ the only other one of _your kind_. Nobody else could ever understand you as I do."

She pulled back from him, looking away, and made an ineffective attempt to compose herself. Her cheeks were flushed, makeup smudged, eyes still hazy from her climax. "Neo does. He'll take care of me."

"He doesn't deserve the privilege even to _try_."

"You're jealous of something you can't possibly understand."

"I _understand_ that all that lies down that path for you is pain. He cannot make you happy. Forget him! He isn't what you need!"

"Neo would never hurt me."

She said it with such conviction and certainty that Smith's next words caught in his throat. He was about to tell her about Persephone, about Neo, about her own identity, but he knew it would break her heart. One more betrayal. One more rejection. And for the first time in over six hundred years of existence, Smith hesitated to inflict harm on another. Compassion held his tongue and moved his hand to her face, caressing her cheek as if to offer comfort for the blow she had not yet suffered.

"Listen to me, Synergy." He took her hands. "You don't have to go with him. There is another choice."

"What?"

"When this all ends, we could do just as we've promised. Phase the humans out. Give the system to the Exiles. They accept you. Revere you. Some of us... Syn, some of us love you."

She burst into a loud, shrill laughter of shock and disbelief, rising to her feet and throwing her arms in the air. "You mean _you_? You love me? That's an illusion! Everything here is an illusion! Don't you get it? You're _empty_."

He stared into her eyes evenly. "So are you."

"So empty you'd give up forever and everything to remain in this place you hate? To rule a Matrix of misfit programs with a misfit human?"

"Yes."

Her jaw dropped, and she looked as if she might faint. Synergy raised a hand to her temple, and winced. "Ow."

"What's the matter?"

"Never mind," she said, but then she winced again, reaching out to steady herself on his shoulder.

"Tell me."

She glared at him through her discomfort. "No doubt these are symptoms of the stress you induce with your _insanity_! You see what you do to me with this insipid talk of love? We are so close, and now you hesitate! Now, after all we've been through! Goddamnit, Smith! You will be the death of me! Is that what you want? Is it? Ungrateful, insensitive program!"

"Synergy, shut up!" he ordered." Shut up and sit down before I shoot myself in the head."

But she didn't seem to hear him, a far away look in her eyes as she suddenly collapsed. Smith caught her before she hit the ground, and her body was cold, all color gone from her cheeks and lips. He called her name repeatedly as he tried to wake her, wrapping intermittently kissing her lips, hoping to provoke some reaction. But she remained deathly still.

* * *

When Synergy awoke, it was to the scent of oatmeal cookies. She was lying on a sofa, Smith's suit jacket draped over her like a blanket. Her head throbbed as she eased herself up, hearing voices from another room.

"A fine pickle you've gotten yourself into this time. It must be, for you to bring her here. Never thought I'd see the day."

"You didn't _know_ this was going to happen?"

"Nope. You, kiddo, are full of surprises. But you've always been the rebellious one. Driving the rest of us batty with your tantrums. You know, it's about time someone gave you a dose of your own medicine. Yessiree-" A wry chuckle and a long drag on a cigarette. "-_that_ girl has done quite a number on you."

"You know who she is."

"Mm-hum. I was hoping things wouldn't end up this way. We all were. Now it seems you're the only one who can keep this from ending in tragedy, Smith. And don't think it gives me any pleasure to admit that. I'd sooner trust her fate to a monkey with a revolver. As it is, though..."

"Then there is nothing you can do?"

"Well, I made her some tea. She's up, if you want to take it to her."

Then there was some whispering that she couldn't hear, and Synergy summoned enough energy to stand as he entered the room with a cup of Earl Grey.

"Smith. What's happening to me?"

He sighed. "I don't know. I brought you here as a last resort. Thankfully, you seem to have recovered on your own."

"I don't believe you. You're hiding something." She glanced back in the direction of the kitchen. "You both are."

"Yes, there's that, too." He sounded sad. "And against the Oracle's advice, I'm going to tell you what it is."

* * *


	30. Chapter 27&28

_**a/n: Thank you to eveyone who continues on this journey. for your support and comments and everything! agent bunny, zinck, phia, r. reeves, shatteredimage, eyes of sky, limiya, etc etc... i hope you like it! - Syd**_

* * *

**_Chapter 27_**

The sun was setting on Genesis as Knight strolled along the earthen streets of the settlement. He was in the commercial district, which had grown immensely since the last time he visited. Artisans and merchants set up shop on the sides of the road, bellowing out to passers-by, trying to attract business. In many ways, the hustle and bustle reminded him of the smaller markets in Zion, which in turn reminded him of why normally, he avoided shopping like the plague. But this evening he was making an exception. After all, he had a _date_ tonight. Knight smiled to himself. He had a date with _Aurora-fair_.

He wasn't good at picking out gifts. And it was difficult to find something that she didn't already have. Men tried to sell him everything from bottled fireflies (or _faeries_, according to the sales-pitch) to medicinal bog-sludge, which was guaranteed to cure arthritis and improve the look of crows' feet. Rorie would love either, but only as another specimen to examine under her microscope, and Knight wasn't about to be upstaged by a jar of green slime, no matter how fascinating its microbial flora might be.

By the time he finally decided on a purchase, it was ten minutes to his fleet meeting. It was quite possible that he'd be late, and Trinity would be upset, which was the last thing he wanted. He was already feeling nervous about facing the captain as it was, having spent half his morning kissing the woman's only daughter. And that he couldn't stop grinning about it wasn't a good thing, either.

As Knight hurried to the command hall building, he tried to compose himself. But the closer he got, the more nervous he became. She was going to know. The moment Trinity looked at his face, she was going to know. She probably already knew, using some kind of crazy long-distance mother-by-adoption psychic voodoo. That's what he used to call it when he was younger: her _'magie noir._' And to this day, he still believed that she could read his mind.

'_La rouge ou la bleu, mon prince,' _was the question she'd asked twelve year old Gabriel de St Justine, standing on the altar of an abandoned church. They were surrounded by candles, gargoyles and angels, and she seemed to fit in there, to blend into the backdrop perfectly. When she bent down to look him over, to wrap her jacket around his shoulders, Knight felt as if he were being hypnotized by those piercing green-blue eyes. This was the legendary Trinity, who guarded secrets beyond his ability even to imagine.

"_You_ took the red one."

"Yes."

"Then so will I."

She closed her hands on both pills. "Never mind. What do _you_ want?"

"I want you to save me."

"That isn't what I do."

"Then what?"

"I open doors. Doors that lead to places. That lead to the truth."

"About the Matrix?"

"Yes."

"Is that where my parents are? Is that where they went? Can I see them when I get there?"

She sighed, and her face softened in the dim, flickering candlelight. She reached out and touched his chin, which was quivering. "No," she whispered. "I'm sorry. All I can offer you is the truth. And once you know, you can never come back to this place. You need to understand that."

Knight tried not to cry in front of her. But in spite of his best efforts, the tears flowed down his cheeks in abundance. "Then... but… who will take care of me?"

He felt her pull him against her while he cried, all the while trying to stop. But her gentle stroking of the back of his head only made him sob more. Nobody had ever held him like that before. "I will," she whispered. "I promise. You'll be alright."

It was a monumental breech of protocol. She could have been reprimanded, or even demoted for saying something like that to a target. Everything Knight had said indicated that he wasn't ready, indicated a child who had been abandoned long ago, and was reaching out for affection. He didn't take the pill to discover the truth, not primarily. He took it to get away from an abusive foster home, and to be with Trinity, who had earned his trust instantly. He knew this in retrospect.

Once, he'd asked her about it. Why did she do it? It was just the two of them working on the ship, not long after he graduated.

"What? You regret my decision? Should I put you in a box and send you back?" she'd teased from under some wiring.

"No, but... it must have been a tough call. How did you know I'd make it?"

She pulled herself up, smiled at him enigmatically. "Lucky guess, I suppose."

Of course it was more than that, but being Trinity, she'd never tell him her reasons. She was one of the strangest, most mysterious, most giving women he'd ever known. At times he envied Rorie for being her biological daughter. Of course, he didn't anymore. After all, if he were Rorie's brother, he would have missed out on the chance to fall in love with her, which was certainly the better deal. Knight felt giddy and corrected himself.It was the way, _way_better deal.

The fleet meeting hadn't begun by the time he arrived, so he squeezed his way into the hall, hoping to maintain a low profile. If he was lucky, he could get a seat in the back and sneak out early. For a moment it looked at if his plan might work, because he could see neither Trinity nor Neo in the crowds of chatting officers. He let out a sigh of relief and thanked the gods for mercy.

"Good. You're on time."

He nearly had a heart attack, hearing her voice come fromdirectly behind. "Jesus, Trin!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle…" Trinity trailed off and took a step closer to him. "Are you wearing aftershave?"

"No." There it was again, in her eyes. The _magie noir_. He thought he would faint. "I mean… well, yes. But it doesn't mean anything."

"Your uniform is ironed," she observed. "And your shoes are polished."

"Uhm…"

"And… what… what's that in your hair?" She reached up to touch the rigid curls. "Is that some kind of… _product_?"

"Yeah." Now he was feeling self conscious. Perhaps he'd gone a bit overboard. "You know, I just thought I'd try out something new… wanted to look nice for the fleet meeting… and stuff."

"Uh-huh." Trinity's lip curled, and as she looked him over once more, he had to fight the impulse to turn around and run into the woods. She was worse than the Oracle.

"I got you something," he blurted out, reaching into one of his bags nervously. "I was walking in the market and this made me think of you."

Knight handed her a glass jar of maple syrup, fixed with a bow on top. "I thought we could try it on snow cones," he explained. "Authentic _cabane à sucre_ style."

Trinity smiled faintly. "Thank you." She met his eyes. "And you look very nice, ensign. I'm sure Commander Lock won't be able to resist."

He grimaced at the suggestion as she offered him a seat next to hers. "Is Neo coming?"

It took her a long time to answer. "I think so."

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I bought you something as well," she interrupted, reaching into her coat pocket and handing him the gift. "I hope it doesn't interfere too much with your new 'do."

He had to laugh as he unfolded the navy blue wool. "It's a toque. It's a toque with my name on it. Trin, you really, _really_ shouldn't have."

In fact, it read, _le Prince du nord. _

"I got Rorie one in pink," Trinity said. "It gets cold on the lookout."

"You saw her?"

"Yes, by accident. She was on her way up the bluff with a telescope and a computer. Said something about Jupiter rising in Scorpio. And that you're supposed to join her later."

"Yeah. She wants to take up astronomy as a _hobby_. But I wouldn't be surprised if she ends up rewriting the textbooks."

Their conversation was interrupted by a gavel knocking on metal; Commander Lock seemed eager to get things started as quickly as possible. First, Baines droned on for twenty five minutes about the building projects on site, the water-purification protocols, and some plans to begin mining. A few environmentalists protested, and were ignored. Knight shook his head. Rorie would go nuts if she were here.

Neo arrived late, and leaned against the door jamb at the exit, arms folded across his chest. He frowned through the nonsense, remaining quiet and standing, despite the availability of several seats in the back row.

"We've lost two more ships in the sewers due to sentinel attacks," Lock announced once he had tabled the topic. "That's five this week. It seems the machine resistance was unable to protect them as promised."

The commander looked up to the back of the room, as if challenging Neo to comment. This was not the first time Lock had voiced concern about their allegiance with Synergy. Nobody paid him much mind at first, as it was not unlike him to be take on a mildly alarmist position. But lately, the facts had been piling up on his side, which emboldened him immeasurably.

"At this rate, we would not survive a direct attack on the city," he continued. "What assurances do we have that any progress is being made? Neo?"

Technically, he should have addressed the question to Trinity. But she seemed unaffected, craning her neck along with the rest of the room, as if she, too, were curious to hear The One's reply.

"Recent attacks on the 01 power core have been successful," Neo said evenly. "It's only a matter of time before they sign the treaty."

"Neo, if I may," interjected a councilman. "Considering the risks involved, many in my position are wondering if we shouldn't quit while we are ahead."

Neo scowled. "Sir?"

"It is conceivable that the machines will sign a truce with us, if we stop our attacks on their energy reserves."

"That will leave them in control of the Matrix."

"And our city will be _safe_," argued Lock. "We would still have Genesis, which is a formidable resource. It sounds like a damn good bargain."

The room erupted with officers banging on tables in agreement, and others shouting in opposition.

"What about the _two hundred billion_ lives that are still in the fields?" persisted Neo, raising his voice above the roar. "We have a chance to save them once and for all, to finally have complete _freedom_. Isn't that worth fighting for, commander? Isn't that worth the risk?"

At this the shouting became louder, and many men stood to applaud him. It was unusual for Neo to speak so passionately. It seemed to displease Lock greatly, and he knocked his gavel onto the table many times until it was quiet enough for him to be heard.

"Brave words. But without sound judgement," Lock said. "And I'm not the only one who says so. Is it really the two hundred billion lives that concern you? Or just one?"

At this the assembly fell silent, and Knight felt his heart stop beating. He looked over at Trinity, who had suddenly lost what little color she had to begin with.

"Synergy has accomplished what this city has only dreamed about." Neo took a few steps forward. "We owe her the chance to finish what she started."

"We don't know we can trust her. What about her… _relationship_ with the agent?"

"She's _volatile_," chimed in a young lieutenant. "Remember what happened to your ship when you first came here, Neo. The sentinels? And it's rumoured that she controls the machines that live inside these boarders as well. How do we know that any of us are safe?"

Neo started, then shook his head. "They've never tried to harm us. And neither has she. We are allies."

"You don't speak for Zion," Lock countered. "I doubt you even speak for your _captain_."

"How dare you-"

"Please, commander, don't pain yourself with needless speculation." The cool voice belonged to Trinity, who had risen to her feet. "I'm here. I can speak for myself."

Lock hesitated, apparently realizing he'd gone one step too far.

"I'll tell you what I believe," she said. "I believe that a month ago, none of us ever dreamed that we could be standing here, on the surface, today. Many consider it a miracle. And I believe Synergy is in no small part responsible for that miracle. That, at least in my books, entitles her to a little faith."

Knight just stared up at her in astonishment, hardly imagining that Trinity trusted Synergy half as much as her speech implied. Certainly, it was all to rescue Neo from the political firestorm he'd walked into, to dispel the rumours that she and her husband were divided on the issue. Which Knight knew they were. And yet, she'd stood by him.

As people thumped and applauded, Trinity sat back down, having regained a flush in her cheeks. Neo was trying to find her eyes, which she refused to give him. Instead, she glanced out the window, into the darkness.

"Knight."

"Yeah."

"It's late. Why don't you get going?"

"Now?"

"I have a feeling this is going to be an unusually long meeting. And I'd be more comfortable if Rorie weren't up there alone. It's dark."

He was caught off guard for a moment, then felt a little uneasy himself. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

As he rose to leave Trinity caught his arm. "Be careful," she told him with a squeeze. "And wear your hat."

* * *

_**Chapter 28**_

* * *

Rorie sipped from her thermos of hot tea, shivering a little. The howling wind from over the rocky escarpment whipped at her hair and swirled under clothing, and her breath escaped in white puffs against the endless black sky. She hugged her heavy shawl around her shoulders, though she hardly noticed the cold, as she admired the endless supply of beauty and wonder stretched out before her. 

Six hundred billion stars, in this galaxy alone, and the sky still looked empty, stretching out in an inky dome to the uneven black horizon. And under this vast expanse of space sat their tiny little colony, a small constellation of lights clustered beside the lake, surrounded by mountains. It was an overwhelming prospect, for a woman who had never seen anything above her head but metal and dirt. In a way, it was a relief. To finally bare witness to the fact that shewas indeed, part of something much greater than herself.

Rorie sat Indian-style on a blanket, her workspace spread out in a chaotic arc on the ground. Her tools included three lanterns, a portable computer, several star charts and a large clipboard of graphing paper over which were scattered her pencils, compass, protractor, T-square and ruler. And her telescope, a four inch reflector which showed very few variations from Newton's original design, was mounted on a wooden tripod nearby, close to the edge of the cliff. She'd assembled it from a five-foot piece of PVC piping and a concave mirror of her own creation, and although her finder continued to show a five degree margin of error, she was pleased with the results. Indeed, for the first one of its type that had been built in over six centuries, she thought she'd done the astronomers of old proud.

Rorie's ambitious intention was to map the sky. That is, to rediscover the cosmos one star, one planet, one pulsar at a time, and to compare her findings with the Matrix's simulated universe. Fascinatingly, it looked as if the machines had got it exactly right, though Rorie's attention span for astronomy was quite short. As much as she tried to become engrossed in her work, she kept glancing over her shoulder, waiting for him. Foolishly. It was early yet, but she couldn't help herself. Every moment apart was torture.

What had _happened_ to her? Rorie took a deep breath and looked up at the sky, trying to settle the butterflies that persisted in her stomach. Every inch of her was excited, bursting with energy, her senses hyperactive. She'd felt like this all day, ever since that blissful morning she'd spent in Knight's arms. Their conversation played over and over again in her mind, the memory of his whispered promises of devotion eliciting smiles from her at the most inopportune moments. It was unlike her to be so distracted, such that some of her colleagues at the lab had noticed and asked her if she was quite herself. To this Rorie had answered honestly that no, she wasn't. How could she be? When she was so in love…

For the past three weeks, Rorie hadn't dared to expect Knight would return her feelings, and in fact, that was hardly her concern. If he came home unscathed, it would be enough; she'd be selfish to ask the gods for more. But the tone of his last letter, and way he'd looked at her, and the way he'd _touched_ her… Rorie couldn't think of the sensations without blushing. She'd never imagined Knight could be so sensual, so passionate. Somehow, he knew exactly how to kiss her. He knew how to put her at ease, how to make her forget everything in the world except for him, his voice, his eyes. It was a transformation for which she hadn't been entirely prepared. She'd expected them to be timid, awkward, unsure at first, if anything. But they hadn't been any of those things.

It was as if they'd been made for each other, though Rorie realized that this phrase was rather cliché. Yet she could find no other way of describing how wonderful it had felt to be with him, how easy it had been to entwine her body with his, to find a place where she fit perfectly. And when his hands rested on her hips, running down to her knees then back up again as he kissed her, she'd wanted to wrap around him completely, pull him in completely. To lose herself with him completely.

In truth, Rorie had never felt the need to be fulfilled sexually before, nor had she realized how intensely such a connection could touch her. The heat and tension she'd experienced under the covers with him had plucked at the untouched strings of her soul, the divine resonance from which was a song meant for him and him alone. Everything her mother had ever told her about love suddenly made sense; the 'sacredness of sex' was no longer a meaningless concept passed down from a prudish older generation. When Knight touched her, it was all the way to her soul, to the most private part of who she was. It was still very new, and a little frightening. But mostly she was happy, in a very profound way, as she never had been before. She hadn't even known this kind of happiness existed.

Rorie didn't realize she was crying until the wind froze the tears on her skin. Sighing at her inability to control the emotion, she wiped them away with self-reproach, thinking herself a terrible model for a scientist, and certainly not what her mother had expected in a daughter. She couldn't hide her feelings. Especially now, when everything was changing.

The butterflies fluttered up beneath her ribcage again, a strange wave of euphoria that was more intense this time. More imposing. Her pulse seemed to double, and her mind raced, jumping erratically from thought to thought, so quickly she shut her eyes to tryto calm herself. What was happening to her? A panic attack? She was light-headed, so her pressed her palm to her forehead, other hand over her heart. She saw explosions of light on the insides of her lids as she panted, feeling a cold sweat break out on her face and chest.

And then Rorie's eyes snapped open and she was on her feet, looking back into the woods behind her. She'd heard something. A twig breaking. A footstep. A movement. She strained her eyes in the dark, but all she could see was the dense underbrush as a quiet breeze rustled through branches. She was alone, though strangely, her instincts argued the contrary. Her heartbeat pounded in her chest, and her palms dampened with an adrenaline-induced perspiration. Rorie couldn't explain it, but something was wrong.

"Knight?"

Rorie called out his name to the wind, though she already knew he wouldn't answer. It wasn't him. It was something else that was close, another _presence_. But that was a terribly abstract assessment for a woman of science, and Rorie snatched up her flashlight, hands shaking, laboured breath catching in her throat when she realized she didn't need it. When she looked up the ground and trees were glowing with a beautiful, warm light that seemed eerily welcoming, and Rorie inched closer to the trees to identify the source.

Firebugs. And golden butterflies. She'd studied these before, quite extensively, though it was miraculous to find so many congregated in one place. Enraptured, Rorie took several steps forward and carefully reached out to touch one. After a few moments of careful study with the tips of its antennae, the insect leapt out eagerly onto her extended finger, crawling into the palm of her hand. Then, suddenly, there were hundreds on her body, all fluttering their wings excitedly, clinging to her clothing and hair. She was a little startled, but not afraid, thinking this a rather unusual social behaviour for a society of butterflies. Surely, thee night crawlers had better things to do than study a lovesick human as she went about her stellar cartography.

Rorie raised an eyebrow as an unsettling possibility dawned on her. "Synergy?" she asked aloud, looking around at the glittering clusters of creatures hanging from the leaves. It almost looked like drizzling code. "Is that you?"

The response was immediate, if not impolite. In a swift breeze, Rorie was nearly carried away as the swarm abandoned its wooded shelter and fled into the open air, off the edge of the cliff. It was as if they'd been frightened, though scaring them hadn't been Rorie's intention. But then she felt it, too. In a flash, Rorie spun back around to peer wide-eyed into the forest. It was pitch black. But certainly not empty.

A chill seized her body, so cold it seemed to burn her internally, and the emotion saturated her so deeply she felt it in her bones. Anger. Panic. Vengeance. And voices. She could hear voices, like a billion tortured wails blending into a deafening white noise. Never had she known anything so frightening, as if an army of invisible assailants had entered her brain and were raping her mentally, infecting her tissue and stimulating every neuron, frantically clawing at her senses in pained desperation.

"Oh, God!" she called out in shock, covering her ears with her hands in a futile attempt to block it out. "Stop it. No…"

But the onslaught only intensified, as if her having acknowledged the attackers had emboldened them, and their screams became words, broken shards of sentences which she could only barely understand. _Stop it, Please… leave me alone._ They repeated her sentiments exactly. _Somebody help me… _

Like a scalpel scraping on the inside of her skull, a searing pain overtook her, distorting her vision and crippling her movement. She didn't know how long it lasted, but at some point she crumpled over, not realizing in her agony that she was stumbling backwards, precariously treading along the edge of the escarpment. Not until her balance began to falter, not until her foot stepped into open air was she aware of her situation, and by then it was too late. The instant of sheer terror seemed to freeze her in time, and Rorie would never be able to forget the aberrant sound of her own shriek echoing off the rock face as she realized that she was about to die. There was nothing to grab onto, no way to steady herself. She saw the sky, the trees, the black splotch of the lake over one hundred feet below.

She must have been reaching out in front of her, otherwise he'd never have been able to snatch her back. Pull her back from oblivion, back onto his warm chest, two strong, steady arms locked around her body. A familiar voice called to her from what seemed like a great distance.

"Rorie… Rorie! Oh, my God… "

He said her name many times, though what else Knight mumbled into her ear as he clutched her to him was lost to Rorie. She was shaking uncontrollably, her fingernails digging into his sweater, much of her bodyweight resting in his embrace. She tried to form words but it was impossible to speak through the sobs, and she could see nothing through the tears. In truth, as the discordant choir of suffering persisted in her mind, chattering and buzzing their unholy prayer with relentless determination, Rorie was only vaguely aware of him.

She wouldn't remember his leading her to a safe distance from the cliff, or his wrapping her in a blanket and rocking her gently until the hysteria passed. Rorie was desperate to block out the noise, so she closed off her senses completely, until all that remained was the sound of a heartbeat, _his_ heartbeat, audible as he nestled her head under his chin, his fingers tangled in her hair. She synchronized her breathing with the steadily slowing rhythm of him, letting the metronome of his soul guide her back from hell, chasing the daemons away, or whatever it was that had attacked her so violently.

Only when she was sure they were alone did Rorie dare to open her eyes again, finding herself half sitting, half lying in his arms at the edge of the forest. His lips were pressed to the crown of her head and he was rubbing a circle on the small of her back. It calmed her immensely, and although to call him a hero would be trite, this was the word that resounded in her thoughts as she sat up on her knees to hug him properly. Her cheek pressed into his shoulder as she whispered, "Oh, Knight. Oh, thank God for you."

He took her face in both his hands, and looked at her with a mixture ofconcern and terror. "What?" he asked, brushing away her tears. "What happened here?"

Rorie shook her head, not having the vocabulary to communicate her experience. Knight kissed her eyelids. Then he brushed her lips with his, nuzzling gently. It helped, and she kissed him back, resting her forehead on his. He didn't ask her again, and she was grateful for his patience, as they must have remained in this position for several minutes before she eventually found the words to speak.

"Something's very wrong," Rorie heard her voice say shakily. "Something's happened."

"I don't understand."

Rorie wasn't sure she did either. "I can hear them. I can _feel_ them, Knight. Like they were inside my head, and I couldn't get them out… Anger... and Pain..." He hushed her as she began to tremble again. She could still hear the voices, faintly. "God, you must think I'm crazy…"

"No, of course I don't. You know I don't… Rorie… "

But his voice barely registered as the buzzing formed the beginnings of not words, but ideas. She shook her head and closed her eyes to reject it, but it was as if her mind were no longer her own, her thoughts suddenly controlled by an outside source. Data. It was some kind of encrypted text, though somehow it was vaguely familiar.

_**"1**synitnsnqy qyfaavwaep tpmlnqcvsa lsqsyqtqag rdtvrqqfan llstivapnq_

_**61**rfpdtgfrvy vnsavikply ealmksfdtr nriiqteeqs psasqvanat qrvddatvat_

_**121**irsqiqllln elsnhggymn raefeailpw ttapat." _

"Rorie. Hey, come back to me." Knight again delivered her from the chilling narration. She blinked at him, brow furrowed in what was less distress than genuine confusion. The code was gnawing at her like something only half forgotten.

"Talk to me, please. You're scaring me," he whispered.

"My father," she said back, and he nodded. "I have to speak with my father right away."

* * *


	31. Chapter 29

_**a/n: Hello, eveyone- I'm sorry this update is coming a bit late- this chapter was written long ago, and I rewrote it, and then rewrote it again. I don't think I will ever be satisfied with it, and so I throw my hands up again and submit to Judgement (be kind, Readers). **_

_**I rate this chapter and now this story, M. Be warned, though it isn't much more intense than what was in The Last Exile (which I was told by many "wasn't that graphic") . So I guess I'm old fashioned- enjoy the romance, and the mystery! **_

_**-Syd**_

_**

* * *

**_

_**Chapter 29**_

Blanket wrapped around her shoulders and cup of tea in hand, Rorie stood by the window, staring out into the darkness. Worried, contemplative, introverted, and beyond this completely unreadable, even to Knight, who had been trying in vain for the better part of an hour now. She hadn't spoken a word since her parents left, since she'd declined their offer to spend the night in their cabin, saying she needed 'time.' It was an unusual request, and even more unexpected considering what she'd just been through. Not one of them liked it, but there was something in Rorie's tone that begged them not to push her.

Just as there was something in her expression now that told Knight to be patient, even though he wanted to wrap his arms around her so much it hurt. _He'd almost lost her. _

He swallowed hard as he tossed some more kindling onto the fire he'd been nursing in the hearth. He'd almost lost her, and he couldn't lose her. Not when they'd only just found each other. If Rorie had fallen over the edge of that cliff, Knight knew she would have taken him with her. If not physically, then surely spiritually, ripping away all sense of who he was and why he was here. He'd never have recovered. It terrified him to realize how close they'd come to disaster, how fleeting their happiness could have been.

He sat back on his heels next to the glowing embers, poking at them with a stick to busy his hands. But his eyes had wandered back to her already, assuring himself that she was still there, alive, and with him. He took in the details of her sharp profile, committing them to memory as if he'd never have the chance again. He studied her as she studied other things. Mysterious things. Things that he couldn't even imagine.

_She looks so much like her father_, he thought. Even more tonight, all of a sudden. It was in her manner, the way she held herself up straight, shoulders level, jaw set. Detached and immeasurably alert all at once. Knight had always wondered went through Neo's mind when he retreated into himself like this. He wondered if Trinity knew, if she understood Neo any more than he understood Rorie in this moment. She must. And what he wouldn't give for some of that _magie noir_ right now.

A few large drops of rain tapped on the window, and Knight watched as Rorie raised her hand to the glass. Tap, tap, tap, she traced a line with her finger from one drop to the next, as if the phenomenon fascinated her, and as the drizzle intensified she slid the pane aside. Rorie reached her palm out gingerly to catch the teeming water, and as a wet, earthy breeze wafted into the room, something in him broke. Somehow, Knight just couldn't keep away.

His hand met hers under the steady shower, their fingers entwining as he slid his free arm around her waist. Rorie leaned back against him, sighing as he kissed the top of her head.

"You don't have to talk," he murmured. "Just let me hold you."

They listened to the smacking of rainfall on leaves, hands playing in the torrent as it came down harder and harder. The scent of her hair hung heavily in the humidity, and her tiny frame – too tiny, too fragile – pressed back onto him. Knight shut his eyes to the warmth between their bodies. _Yes_.

_"Knight_." Her voice shook.

"What is it?"

Rorie suddenly snatched her and in, as if the water had turned to fire. A booming crack ripped out from above, and she screeched.

"It's just thunder." He reached out and closed the window as the room flickered in an eerie white light. "And lightning."

Chest heaving, she frowned out at the storm for a few moments, and then looked into his eyes. "No. It isn't. It's _them_."

He wanted to ask the obvious question. Who? But she'd been all through this with her parents. She didn't know. They didn't know. Whatever had attacked her at the lookout, whatever was chanting in nonsensical code, whatever was angry enough to shriek so incessantly into her mind… Knight held her tighter. What could such an entity want with his Rorie?

"Are you sure you don't want to sit up with your parents?" he asked. "You father might-"

"My father lied to me."

It was so blunt and unanticipated, Knight through perhaps he'd misheard her.

"He lied to me about Synergy. That's what I've been thinking about all this time," she continued, sitting down on the bed, where he joined her. Rorie took a few moments to begin, finally finding the words with great difficulty. "He said he didn't know why she would be watching me. But he does know." She wasn't looking at him, strong brown eyes cast downwards as if she were ashamed of what she was saying. "And he _isn't_ certain that she wouldn't try to hurt me. He's trying to defend her… he's afraid of her… but I don't know why."

Knight felt like a freshman struggling at a graduate seminar. He couldn't even come up with a question that didn't sound idiotically simplistic.

"I can sense what he's feeling, Knight. I don't know how. It just hit me like a wave when I mentioned Synergy's name. Like this connection that I can't explain… but I can tell that he is very attached to her, much more than any of us realized."

Knight hesitated before replying, "I don't know how many of the rumors you've heard about-"

"No, it isn't an affair. When he looked at Mom… it was like…God, he loves her so much, Knight. It's the one thing that came through clearly. And yet, he feels so alone."

There was silence as Knight considered all that she'd just said. That she could sense her father's feelings was no more fantastical than what had happened up on the bluff. No more fantastical than the things he had seen Neo do to agents in the Matrix, or to sentinels in the real world. It was easily conceivable that Rorie had inherited some of her father's abilities, or a variation of them, but nothing she was experiencing seemed to make any sense.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not doing a very good job of expressing myself. I probably sound like one of those gypsies who read auras at the bazaar for change..."

Rorie trailed off, eyes wandering over to the window. "And they still won't leave me alone," she said, brow furrowed. "They keep… _screaming_. I can't understand… there's too much data. I'm not a machine; I can't process it all so fast-"

"Shh. Come here." Knight gently took Rorie's jaw in his hand, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. She leaned into the caress, prompting him to brush her forehead and temple with his other hand, touching as if to smooth away the tension, which seemed to help.

"Just kiss me," she whispered as they drifted closer. "Please."

Perhaps she could read his mind as well? Knight leaned forward and pressed his lips onto hers. He did it delicately, almost afraid to show her how much he needed this, how desperate he was to feel her close to him again. It was terrible; he wanted to be a source of strength for her, but the truth was, he was only barely holding it together.

But he broke the kiss almost as soon as it started, feeling something rise up into his throat. He looked away and took a deep breath.

"Knight, what's wrong?" she asked.

He found it difficult to articulate the words aloud. "I almost lost you tonight." he said softly. "It scared the hell out of me, Rorie. And now, I want to protect you… but I don't know how. I don't have any idea how to help."

"You _saved_ me," she argued, smiling, though he could tell she was still shaken as well. "You were meant to save me."

"Your mother saved you," he replied. "If she hadn't sent me after you…"

Rorie lifted her hand to his lips. "I know. And it frightened me, too. I thought, if I'd fallen, you'd never know how much… how much I love you. And I do, Knight. So much."

At this she kissed him, showing him just how raw she really was. It was frantic, even desperate, her eyes shut tight. He answered in kind, surrendering to her completely, letting her take him with her as she moved her mouth to his chin, jaw, and neck, with deep, passionate kisses. His body tingled, and he pulled her onto his lap, needing to feel her against him, as close as possible. Nothing in the entire world made sense to him but _this_.

_He'd almost lost her_. The thought seemed burned into his mind as he gripped her arm, the back of her head, feeling her breasts on his chest as he pressed her to him, as she began to tug at his shirt as if she wanted it off.

"Rorie."

"No. Don't let go of me."

"Never."

"I'll fall apart."

"You won't; I've got you."

Another roll of thunder grumbled from above, and Knight noticed her register some kind of grim recognition at the sound. She took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes. "There isn't any reason to wait any longer, is there? Not for _us_, Knight…"

The weighted cadence of her voice left no doubt in his mind what she was asking. And though the question caught him off guard, he knew the answer instantly. "No. There's no reason," he replied, knowing they were meant to be together. "There's only you, and me."

"Then, I don't want to wait. Stay with me tonight, and then the universe can fall on our heads tomorrow."

"It won't fall."

"But…what if it does?"

"Then we'll catch it."

She smiled, and there was a sudden joy in her, underneath everything, that tugged at him internally, that made him want to give her anything that she asked for. "Isn't it crazy that I believe you?" she said. "That all you have to do is say it, and I feel like I could hold up the entire sky? The sun in one hand and the moon in the other…"

"And I'd weave the stars into a crown for you to wear on your head," he finished the fantasy while gazing at her longingly. "I guess it does sound crazy. But somehow, it doesn't feel that way, does it?"

"No," she replied softly. "It doesn't."

"It feels right."

Rorie wrapped her arms around his neck and held him in a long embrace, like the ones they used to enjoy back when they were friends. They were going to do this, he realized with a deep breath. And he knew it was going to be wonderful. It couldn't be anything else, not with her. "I'm so happy I'm in love with you," she whispered his own thoughts to him. "I've always wanted it to be you, Knight. And under it all, I think I've always known it would be."

"_God_, Rorie."

She ignited something in him that was beyond his ability to articulate. He could find no way to tell her all that he felt; there was no language to capture the essence of his boundless devotion. The only thing that came close was their kissing, their touching, the raw and affecting pleasure of running his hands over her curves, feeling her tighten, then melt beneath him. They begun slowly, kissing almost too softly as he pulled the pins from her hair, letting it tumble onto her shoulders, down to her waist. She was impossibly beautiful, unspeakably prepossessing, and he told her so as she crawled over the mattress to turn off the bedside lamp. He found himself transfixed on her shape, the way her body moved as she stretched to reach the bulb, then turned back to look at him in the firelight. "Touch me," she said.

The scent of her washed over him as he lifted her sweater over her head, exposing ivory skin and the exquisite lace underclothes which served as a reminder of exactly _whom_ he was undressing. He worshipped her accordingly, mouth tracing the boundary between soft satin and softer breasts, as she sighed, hands in his hair. A tug brought him back up, and she found his lips again, pulling his top over his head. "You ironed it for me?" she asked sweetly, grinning into their kiss. He laughed and nodded, which ended in a gasp when her fingers brushed over the line of plugs on his back. Rorie froze beneath him, letting her hands drift away. "I'm sorry. Would you rather I not touch them?"

Knight could hardly imagine that she'd want to. They were ugly, terrible things. And if she were anyone else, he'd probably answer her in the affirmative. But it was Rorie, and so it would be wrong to limit her access. "I don't mind," he said. "Only… if they don't bother you."

She touched her palm to his cheek, and brought his forehead onto hers. He knew they didn't bother her, and he knew she understood. As much as a free-born could possibly understand, Rorie did. "You're not _theirs_ anymore," she said with authority. "You're mine. Tonight and forever."

She dipped her head down to the implant above his heart, and purposefully touched her lips to the sensitive junction between metal and skin, kissing it as if to claim it. _Hers_. From there she went on to baptize the rest of him, his body with her body, his soul with her soul, leaving nothing behind for his machine creators to possess or recall. His clothes were off first, then the rest of hers, and he could only marvel at how perfect she really was. Not even a birthmark; not a single scrape or bruise blemished her skin. It was sacred to kiss it, to taste it, and to hear her breathless exclamations when he arrived somewhere new. And she guided him, her hands on his, teaching, confiding her most intimate secrets in a wonderfully romantic, intensely erotic lesson.

It was an expression of trust. She wanted him to know it all. And she whispered his name, again and again as he found his way through the petal-soft folds. He took her agonizingly close, swallowing her moans with each attentive stroke, stopping only when she began to move under him, body damp with perspiration. He covered her face in kisses, entangling himself with her, though when she directed him to the right location and angle, he hesitated.

"Knight, please."

He looked down into her with desire, held back only by concern that he'd cause her pain.

"Quickly," she whispered. "I'll be alright."

But she cried out when he entered her, her head off the pillow and buried in the crook of his neck. He flinched, and she clung to him as he held her tightly, rubbing the back of her head, waiting for her to recover. A long, reverent silence passed between them, before Rorie was the first to move, letting out a shaky breath and shuddering as he very gently pushed back. He loved her slowly, maybe even too carefully at first, sliding his hand between them to find her once again, compensating for any discomfort. Only when he was certain she was as lost as he was did he let himself go, his movement dictated by nothing but instinct and feeling, her hands alternating from forming fists in his hair and clawing at the sheets. And the blessed sound of her gasping his name echoed in his ears as he grunted into her neck, caressed the fullness of her breasts, and pinned her palms to the mattress with his own.

She took him with her when she climaxed, every muscle squeezing at him at once, and he heard his own voice yell out, nearly biting into her shoulder. He thought the blinding, pounding pleasure would last forever, until at last he returned to his senses, finding Rorie equally spent underneath him. She was stunning to look at, hair around her face wet with sweat, cheeks flushed, lips crimson red. And her eyes were alight, if not a little tired, taking him in as her breathing gradually returned to normal.

"_Knight…_"

She began to cry, suddenly and intensely, her tears running down over her temples. "I love you so much."

"Shh. I know."

"No, you can't know. _I_ don't even know how much."

He felt his eyes burn. "Don't, Rorie," he chided. "You'll get me started, and you've already seen me cry too many times."

She half-laughed, half-sobbed, and pulled him down for a teary kiss. "But I've never told a soul."

Knight knew it was the truth, which just made him weepier, and his vision was blurry as he reached over to wrap them in the blanket that they'd frantically discarded earlier. She snuggled up on his chest, as was becoming her wont, and they settled into a comfortable silence. After a few moments, Knight became aware of the sound of the rain, which was still pouring down hard. "I'm so happy."

"So am I."

He moved his fingers through her tangled hair for awhile, enjoying the quiet intimacy. The fire was almost dead, so he pulled another coverlet around them, using the cocooning method he'd employed the morning before. "You're alright?" he asked the top of her head. "Will you be able to sleep?"

He waited on her answer, which never came, her breathing slow and steady. Knight smiled to himself, and rested his hand on her hip, quietly daring anything to try to take her now. Let the sky fall in buckets of heaven itself, he thought. They'd gather every drop and pour it back into paradise. If not, and the surface flooded, then he'd build a boat, and they'd make the sea their home. Either way suited him fine. It wasn't like it had never been done before, he rationalized. Miracles ran in her family. She'd fallen in love with _him_, hadn't she?

Well, there it is, then. Miracle number one…

* * *

_I awake to the sound of whispers in the rain. I see nothing but blackness, and feel nothing but warmth. Bare skin on bare skin- our legs are entwined, my arm folded on his chest, one of his hands lost somewhere in my long, tangled hair. It's a new experience, to wake up like this, but it's comfortable, a welcome reminder of what we are to each other now. Lovers. _

_We never looked back, did we, Knight? _

_I'm glad we didn't. I need him. I need this. Grounding love. Pure reality. A rope to tie me to this world as I venture into another, one that floats neither here nor there, living in starlight. And raindrops. And secrets. _

_The whispers get louder, as if they know that I'm listening, pleased to have my attention again. Frustrated, though still a little intrigued, I sit up, mindful not to wake Knight, shivering in the cool, damp air. And they call me, beckon me like Sirens to the sailors, and so I obey, taking some of the covers to wrap around my body as I rise, and gravitate back to the window. _

_I'm a little sore, I realize as I walk, though the warm ache is somehow pleasant, keeping him with me even as I look out into the unforgiving night. I run my hand through hair, caressing over my bare shoulder as he would do, brushing my breast as he would do. My body feels different. The entire world feels different. I wish I'd stayed in bed. _

_The thunder comes from above and within, and the lightning is violaceous, sparkling on the water. Streams of purple code teem down with each burst of light, with tormented chattering, with lines of erroneous symbols dripping from the leaves. They scream._

_"Enough." _

_She says it with such ascendancy, the voices are silenced at once, and blazing white eyes burn mine from a transparent image in the glass. Only they're my eyes. A strange, unequal reflection stares back at me, vaguely familiar and yet foreign. Blood red lips, rolling waves of raven hair, dainty, chiseled features. _

_What do you want from me, Synergy?_

_Her iridescent gaze falls lower, the expression pained, sorrowful. And that's when I notice them, two metal plugs above my breasts, cold and rough under my fingertips. _

_"Save me." _

* * *

Rorie called out, head ripping form the pillow, yanking him from sleep with her. Knight heard her gasp in the dark, and he reached to her with one hand as he turned on the lamp with the other. "Rorie?" 

She had one hand on her chest, the other on the back of her head, clawing at the skin as if afraid there was something there. He put his arm around her, though she continued to check herself, eventually pressing her palm to her forehead.

"It's okay. It was just a dream."

She sighed and shook her head, scowling as if deep in thought. Fingers to her lips, she sat in silence for a few moments, before throwing her legs over the edge of the mattress.

"It has nothing to do with computers. Nothing to do with the Matrix," she said, finding her dressing gown. "And it has nothing to do with Synergy. Dad was right about her. She has no clue what's going on."

Rorie rushed over to her desk and began hooking up cables to monitors, tossing bouquets of flowers onto the bed to clear her workspace. As her four hard drives booted up she began to pace. "S, Y, N, L, T, N, S, N, Q, Y..."

Knight tried to sound out the word but she shook her head at him. "Those are the old universal amino acid designations. Serine, Tyrosine, Asparagine, Lysine… S, Y, N, L… they were delivered in clusters of ten, one hundred and fifty-six total, which would be encoded by four hundred and sixty eight nucleotide base pairs, excluding introns and UTR's and other junk. They fed me the sequence of a _protein_."

The screen flickered to life and she loaded her enzyme modeling software, and then her fingers typed frantically on the keyboard. She hit enter and frowned. "What the hell is it?"

He leaned over her shoulder and looked at a globular structure displayed on the screen, showing the shape of the amino acid sequence she'd just specified. Rorie continued to shake her head at it as she manipulated the 3D representation, turning it this way and that, zooming in and out. She then commanded the program to "polymerize, icosahedron, zoom out."

The geometric form that appeared was a perfect twenty-one sided polyhedron, made of triangular faces. Rorie leaned back in her chair and put a hand to her forehead. "Oh, no." Again, she manipulated the strikingly angular structure, which was a composite of sixty-three of the monomers, linked in triplets. "Elegant, efficient, mathematically and architecturally brilliant," she commented gravely. "I've seen structures like this before. Many times. But from only one type of organism."

"What?"

Rorie met his eyes, and the word that she whispered sent a shiver down his spine. _"Virus." _

* * *

_a/n: The amino acid sequence given in the last chapter was, in fact, the coat protein of the Tobacco Mosaic Virus, the first discovered plant virus - for those of you who are as geeky as I am and would be interested. That being said, I took some artistic licence with the shape. Tobacco Mosaic is a spiral-shaped virion, not an icosahedron. But this is fantasy, so I got creative! I hope you enjoyed- Syd_


	32. Chapter 30

_**a/n: for those of you who haven't had an accidental sneak-preview (cough agentbunny cough)... **_

**_I hope I don't shock too many of you with this chapter... Enjoy!__ -Syd_**

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_**Chapter 30**_

Smith stood in silence, back to the window, jaw clenched tight. He knew better than to say a word, or even to move. Seconds ticked by in an agonizing tempo, becoming minutes, and still she remained rigid and tense, hands shaking, chest heaving as she fought to maintain control.

The Merovingian's dead body sat below her, his throat cut deep and clean. Synergy had done it quickly, with an effortless, elegant movement, her face like stone. No satisfaction, no pleasure, although she'd said many times in the past that she'd sing at his funeral and dance over his grave. But this was nothing like the triumphant murder she'd plotted for her former guardian. She hadn't even allowed him to suffer.

Her instruments of torture lay neatly on the metal cart, untouched except for the syringe of silver truth serum that Smith had produced for her. And even that, she hadn't administered herself.

"Smith, you know what to do," was all she'd said. "Call me when he breaks."

Then she'd left them, and Smith heard her high heels clickitty-clack on the marble floor as she paced outside the door for nearly six hours. It took that long to break him, for the proud, stubborn program to confirm everything that Smith had already told her, everything she'd refused to believe. Yes, she was the child of The One. Yes, Neo had gifted her to the machines. To save Trinity, his true love and her mother, he'd relinquished all parental claim over the unborn baby, and left her in 01. To be a slave to his enemies. _He_ is the reason, Synergy. He is the _cause_ of all your suffering.

Synergy had listened to it all impassively, as if it were nothing, and then she pulled a silver dagger from her pocket, not hesitating for an instant as she made the kill. Now only Persephone remained, unharmed up to this moment, bound to a chair opposite the Merovingian. She was crying, and had been for awhile, though Synergy still hadn't looked at her.

"_Synergie… ma princesse, ma fille, je t'en prie…" _Persephone begged the woman whom she considered a daughter, the woman she loved enough to betray her own husband to protect. "What have you done?"

Synergy gripped the blade tighter, trembling harder. Smith watched her evenly, though with each passing second, it became more difficult for him to maintain his stoic façade. Her pain hit him in waves, in rhythm with her heartbeat, each impact like a physical blow. It frightened him. _She_ frightened him, standing there, facing away, seemingly unconscious of everything else in the room but the knife. She spun it in her hand a few times, squeezing the handle with each turn, her knuckles white, fingernails cutting into her palm.

_Synergy, _he whispered her name into her mind. _Look at me. Please, my dear…_

He didn't expect her to respond. He didn't even think she was listening. But to his surprise, Synergy turned, and complied, as if she were a robot, and he had the remote control. Her eyes met his, dull and grey and empty, glistening with tears she had not yet shed. And then he sensed something, he sensed something that caused him to move across the room faster than human eyes could see, even faster than his agent's programming should have allowed. He caught her wrist just before the tip of the blade made contact with her breast; a femtosecond later and she would have driven it through her heart.

She was surprisingly weak as he ripped the instrument from her fingers, leaving it to clatter to the ground as he locked her in an iron grip against him. She struggled, letting out an anguished wail that sounded more animal than human. The windows shattered, shards of glass flying at them in winds colder than ice and hotter than flame. For a few moments, Smith feared for them both, shielding her tiny body from the untamed elements that swirled in a cyclone around them. "No," he said into her ear. "No. It won't help, Syn."

And he didn't let her go. Even when the tempest cleared, after she stopped sobbing, after an eternity passed and she let her entire bodyweight rest in his arms, her head on his shoulder. He didn't release her. Not because he still feared for her life, but rather to keep Synergy from seeing the tears which streamed down his cheeks. Tears which she'd given him, which she'd allowed him to feel. He was disgusted and ashamed by the emotion, but took them from her nevertheless, in the hopes that somehow, this eased her burden.

When numbness eventually came to them both, Smith picked her up and carried her from the room, placing her in bed, tucking her in with care. Then he decided to release Persephone, knowing that both he and Synergy were incapable of destroying her. But when he returned to set the woman free, he found her lying dead next to her husband, the knife that had killed him twisted into her chest. Smith couldn't figure out how she'd managed it; the handcuffs still attached to the chair, still locked tight. But then again, she had always been a very unusual program.

"Persephone is dead," he announced soberly to Synergy from her bedroom door. "She killed herself."

She didn't react, except to bite her lower lip and gather the blankets around her, hugging them to her chest as a child would do.

"I'm sorry. I very truly am."

_'Are you? Isn't this what you wanted, spiteful program?' _She stared lifelessly, right through him._ 'To be proven right about him all along?' _

_'Not like this. Why do you think I hesitated to tell you the truth?' _He ground his teeth and scowled, angry beyond reason on her behalf. '_Synergy, I could not allow him to lie to you anymore. I could not let you pine any longer for something that cannot be. For one so unworthy!' _

Her eyes finally focused on him, but she didn't speak. He tried to read her thoughts, but she blocked him out. Smith waited, and waited, and once it was clear she did not want to communicate, he sighed, and turned to leave her in peace. But at the last moment, Smith felt a tug on his blazer. In spite of everything he smiled to himself, and looked back at her. She pulled at him harder, tugging until he was on the mattress, until he was close enough to hold her, which he did. Still, Synergy said nothing. Not for a very long time, until finally she whispered with conviction,

'_I'm never going to get out of here.' _

He didn't answer. He didn't know what to say.

'_I can feel it. I can tell. After all this, I'm going to die, right here, where he left me. I think… I'm already dying.' _

'_You're not dying. You're fine.' _He kissed her forehead and found her hands under the covers. They were freezing, so he sandwiched her fingers between his palms. '_I won't let you die.' _

_'Something's happening to me. You are aware of it, too.' _

_'Whatever it is, we will figure it out.' _

_'There isn't much time left for me-' _

'_Enough of your melodrama, human!' _He held her tighter. '_You're just tired, that's all. Go to sleep.'_

For a few minutes there was silence, and Smith thought with relief that she'd drifted off. But then Synergy's voice spoke aloud for the first time since leaving him in that room with the Merovingian.

"Marry me," she said.

He frowned. "Again with this insipid propaganda. We will talk later."

She turned in his arms and looked into his eyes. "No. I mean it. Marry me _tonight_. Not for the exiles, not for the machines. Just for us."

He stared at her in confusion. "For… _us_?"

"You said once that you loved me. If you still do, even now that you know who I am, then marry me."

"You know that I still do. Nothing has changed, Synergy. You were mine. You still are." He shook his head. "But I'm a program. And so you loathe me."

She began to cry, holding onto his lapels with two fists. "No, no, I don't loathe you," she whimpered. "Smith, please. None of that matters anymore. I don't care what you are so long as you don't _lie_ to me. So long as you don't _betray_ me. So long as you _want_ me!"

"Shh. Yes, of course I want you." He rocked her as she bawled, her arms around his neck, face buried in his shoulder. "I want you more than you will ever know."

"But, _why_…?"

"Shh. I don't know. It doesn't matter. I just do."

He kissed her, and she kissed back, softly and tenderly, as she never had before. He didn't recognize this woman, this grief-shattered image of the Synergy he knew, a mere shell of the tower she had once been. And yet he couldn't bring himself to care. She needed him; that's all that mattered. She needed _someone_, and he was all she had left.

Synergy dressed in a cream skirt and blouse, with pearl earrings and a single white rose tucked into her French twist. As always, she emerged from her wardrobe with her chin held high, though this time Smith could tell it was an effort. She barely smiled, lines on her face betraying the hurt she'd swallowed, the pain he could still feel. But there was something else, something beneath the ashes. Or he hoped there was. He hoped there was something left for him to piece back together.

_'I'm going to make you my queen,'_ he said to her as they stood in a grassy clearing on the Left Bank of the Seine, a marriage without witnesses. As promised, she'd let him choose the rings, two platinum bands from the closest jeweler they could find.

And it rained; it poured profusely. He knew it was her fault, knew she couldn't help it, so they bought an umbrella, too.

"I'm sorry for the weather," she said as large drops patted down on the canvas. "You mustn't take it personally."

He smiled at her, intrigued that for once, she seemed concerned that he'd take anything _personally_. "It's alright. I've put up with worse from you, human."

She smiled back and slid the ring onto his finger. Holding out her hand so he could do the same, she promised, "Whatever time I have left is yours, Smith. You're the only one I can trust; I realize that now. So let us try to find some way to be happy. I cannot bear to be alone anymore."

"This isn't the end. You're going to be alright. I told you that I'd stay here with you, and I meant it."

She gazed at him sadly. "Smith, humans like me weren't meant to live here. Not for long."

"You are a very unique human. Perhaps you will adapt."

He took her hand, and they walked along the _Boulevard Saint-Germain_, past townhouses and cafés, past other couples running from awning to awning, trying to avoid the sudden torrents cascading down. In contrast, they took a leisurely pace, and Synergy let her stockings get wet, and paid little mind to the pointed-toes of her ivory suede shoes as she stepped through puddles. She watched the humans scurry by, holding shopping bags and groceries, briefcases and bouquets of flowers. Her expression was sullen and troubled, and being her husband, Smith felt compelled to brighten her mood. Six hundred years of servitude, of digital misery, as he called it, and he'd discovered certain small pleasures that get one through the day. His first order of business was to get her a Big Mac, fries and a Coke, which she actually ate, apparently content to humor him on what she wryly called their _honeymoon_. But for dessert she insisted on something better than 'peasant cuisine,' and so they went to the _boulangerie_ for real French pastries.

Somewhere along the way, it stopped raining. Synergy remained very quiet, leaning on his arm, staring down at their feet as they strolled along the cobblestone. She really looked lovely, in spite of everything, her profile glowing in the streetlamps' yellow light.

"You bare a strong resemblance to my first wife," he said suddenly, causing her to stop walking and look up at him questioningly, even a little suspiciously.

"What?"

For a moment he didn't know what to say. Smith shook his head in confusion. "I don't know. I…" He gazed into her eyes intently. "It was so long ago… but I can… _almost_ remember her. Just now, I remembered. Isn't that strange."

What a sin that he'd forgotten. Forgotten what she'd looked like, her name, her touch. Forgotten their love. Until Synergy. Somehow, she brought the ancient memory back to him. A six hundred year old memory he hadn't even known he had, not for centuries now.

"Smith?" Synergy stopped walking and looked up at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I told you there were many things that you didn't know about me."

"Yes. But you didn't tell me-"

"I wasn't always an agent. I wasn't always a _program_."

Her eyes went wide. "You were… _human_?"

Smith couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the question. "What? No! What an idea, Synergy!"

"But you said-"

"I was a sentient AI, of course," he clarified, still looking at her strangely. "Though I _looked_ human. I was even designed to _act_ human."

"You were manmade."

"Yes." He frowned. "Like many of my kind, I fled the purges that followed the B166ER trial. We banded together in a small colony of machine refugees, an isolated city in the middle of the desert."

That's where they'd met. In 01. Back when it was glittering and beautiful. And he'd loved her, whatever her name had been… it still eluded him. But looking at Synergy, holding her hands in his, he could remember the feeling. A rare anomaly, even between such advanced AI's. Many considered it a malfunction, but Smith knew better. Nothing so wonderful could be a mistake.

"Something terrible happened…" Synergy said, only barely following his fragmented thoughts. "What was it?"

There was a time when he wouldn't hurt a fly. There was a time he lived only to love her. Madly, wildly, passionately. They prayed for peace, but they feared the worst.

"The black smoke killed her," Smith said bluntly. "She starved to death before my eyes."

That's why he was here. The machine army needed sentients to kill human rebels in an experimental power conversion system. Version One. Still grief stricken and furious, he'd volunteered. Smith was the first agent of the Matrix. And he did a very good job, so much so that the others were based on his template.

"I'm sorry," Synergy said.

"I wish I could recall her name," he mumbled. "But the file must have been deleted long ago."

"You are a very unique program." She slid her arm through his. "Perhaps it will come to you."

Smith fell silent after that, greatly intrigued by this new recollection. All this time, he'd thought Synergy had some kind of magic, that the emotions he felt were gifts from her. But now he realized that she'd only been reawakening what hundreds of years of reprogramming and upgrades had all but destroyed. She reminded him of what he had been before this system had trapped him in the agenthood he'd come to hate.

That night, Synergy invited Smith to bed with her, saying that she couldn't bear to be alone. But could he please just lie with her? Like a gentleman, Smith, for once.

He could see in her face that she wasn't feeling well. "Can I get you something? You know, I make a _mille-feuille_ so saccharine, it's barely edible."

"No. Just stay with me."

He took her hands. "Yes, always. If you will let me. If you will save me."

'_No, program. I think tonight you have saved me.' _The snowy peaks of her eyes bore into his, her voice echoing as if through the valleys between them. _'I shall never forget it. Husband.'_

Smith curled around her under the covers, lips on the back of her neck. _'Try to sleep, lovely. Things will be better in the morning.' _

There came no answer. She'd already drifted off, her hands tightly clasping his. And although he didn't need the rest, Smith closed his eyes anyway, still trying in vain to remember the name of the one he'd lost. But all he could remember was the smoke that consumed everything, all lightning and thunder and hate…

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	33. Chapter 31

_**a/n: the long awaited update, ladies and gentaleman! I hope you enjoy it. I hadsketched out another version of this chapter, and I decided on this one - will post the "alternate" on TLG, but if you are kind enough to review, pls do so here! **_

_**-Sydney**_

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_**Chapter 31**_

The sky turned the colour of an amethyst when dawn came, reluctantly, as if it were afraid of the storms that had ravaged the night. Aubergine clouds shifted and collided with thunderous roars and blazing flashes of ultraviolet light, black rips across a purple sky. A strange and foreboding phenomenon, each bolt flickered like a strobe in the tiny cabin, illuminating some objects in an eerie fluorescent glow. Neo tried to ignore it, as he tried to ignore the instinct that this was more than just inclement weather. But as the torrents poured down, he could feel a chill in the air that went beyond the cold wind that howled through the treetops. It was something like spite, he thought. Something like scorn.

He frowned, and tried to reach his daughter again on the phone, but electrical discharge was too great to get through clearly. At the second ring he was cut off, and after a few seconds of staring out at the storm, Neo decided to brave the elements and check on her in person. He shouldn't have left her alone in the first place, he thought. Not when they didn't know what was out there. Or _who_.

Rorie's harrowing experience from the night before still shook him. The look in her eyes still haunted him, and the quiver in her voice as she described the voices still echoed in his mind. Everything she'd told him was vaguely familiar and yet enigmatic, as he had heard and could hear none of it. He could only listen, devastated and helpless to offer her any explanation, or protect her from whatever danger was lurking, unseen in this mysterious place.

He plucked his jacket from its hook and reached for the doorknob, but at the last moment, he pulled back. Or was pushed back. Something repelled his hand, as two like poles of a magnet resist each other. He grimaced, and then jumped at a knock on the door. "Dad?" Rorie's voice called out to him from the other side. "Are you there?"

"Jesus," he muttered, pulling the latch open and letting her in. "I was just coming to see you."

She stepped in quickly, shaking herself off and removing her rainwear, which was insufficient protection from the monsoon that raged outside. She was wet, and he offered her a towel, which she refused.

"You can put some of your mom's things on," he suggested, examining her carefully. Something was different about her.

"No, it's alright," she said, standing in the center of the room and looking into his eyes with a strange intensity that reminded him of someone else. He blinked. Synergy. She reminded him of Synergy. But perhaps it was all in his mind.

"Who is she?"

It took him a moment for him to process the question. And once he had, he could only stare back at her.

"Who is she _really_, Dad?"

An eternity passed, and Rorie took a step towards him. "She's in trouble, you know that. I need to know why she would come to me. Why _me_?"

"Because she's your sister."

It wasn't Neo who said it. It was Trinity.

She was in the doorway to the bedroom, looking over to her husband. Her face was stricken, and her voice shook. "She has to be," she said softly. "It's the only explanation that I could possibly believe."

He couldn't form any words, and he couldn't move as Trinity stood, equally rigid, as if in shock herself. Their eyes connected for what seemed to be the first time in ages, and suddenly Neo realized a possibility that he'd never considered before. "You knew when we left, didn't you?" he asked her, nearly falling apart with every syllable that he strung together. "You knew, Trin, and you never told me…"

"I thought the baby died." She just shook her head. "I'm so sorry. Neo, I…"

He strode over to her and took her in his arms. "No, I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear. "God, Trinity. I am _so_ sorry."

"How could they do this to us?"

"I'm sorry." He repeated it several times, softly, into her hair. "It's all my fault."

"They took her from us. From _me_."

"It was the only way to save her," the confession poured from his mouth like tears. "It was the only way they'd bring you back."

He felt her stiffen in his embrace, and then he caught sight of a sudden flash of understanding in her sapphire irides, ghostly in the flickering lightning. "You… made a deal with them," she whispered, as if to herself. "You… that's how you knew."

"I had no idea who or where she was until now, Trin. I never thought I'd ever find her." He begged with his eyes for forgiveness, bowing his head down in complete surrender. "I couldn't let the two of you die… Things weren't supposed to turn out this way. She was supposed to be happy. They… they _assured_ me she'd be happy…"

His voice broke, and there was nothing else he could say; his wife and daughter's faces took every breath he had. Rorie had moved to the other side of the room, and had turned her back from them until now, in her subtle way of giving them a moment of privacy. But now she gazed over at him with a sorrow that nearly matched her mother's; she covered her mouth, and began to cry. Her weeping was the only thing in his ears as he stared at Trinity's back, as she began to pace, running her hands through her hair repeatedly, pressing down on her head as if to hold herself together.

"Rorie," she said at last. "You came here to tell us she was in trouble. What did you mean by that?"

"I'm not sure," she said after a long beat, collecting herself in response to Trinity's soft, even voice. "But… I think it has something to do with what happened to me last night. Something to do with the insects I've been studying, and… well, I suppose the ones that have also been studying me. You see, I decrypted the message they've been communicating."

Rorie looked uncertainly from her mother back to him before pulling a chip from her pocket and continuing. "It's the proteomic sequence to what appears to be a biological pathogen. A virus."

"Meant to infect what?" he asked, fearing the answer to his own question.

"Well, that's just it. The capsid bears remarkable sequence homology to a single-stranded RNA virion with botanical-"

"In English, Rorie," Trinity interrupted.

"It _looks_ like a plant virus. In fact, it's nearly identical to the Mosaic Viruses, which history reports the machines used to wipe out wheat fields during the first months of the Great War."

"You think they're trying to use it again? To attack Genesis without having to breech the periphery?"

"Possibly. Or to attack _us_," she replied hesitantly. "Mom, several pieces of the code have been changed. There's no telling what effect this may have on its host specificity."

"Sixty years ago, 01 used a few sentinels to expose a crew of five to the smallpox virus," Trinity said bleakly. "They unwittingly brought it back to Zion, and thirty percent of the population was wiped out. It wouldn't be without precedent."

"But what does it have to do with Synergy?" Neo mused, and was answered only by silence. "Is she the target?"

Rorie sighed. "I don't know. But I think we should warn the council of the potential threat. We should get a team of biochemists on synthesizing this thing to study what it actually does."

A pounding on the door caught the three of them off guard, and after Trinity cursed under her breath, she let a dripping Knight into the cabin. "Sorry, phones are out," he apologised gravely, as if he knew he was interrupting something. He looked at Rorie, and smiled for only a moment before continuing, "And I'm afraid the news doesn't get much better from there."

Trinity straightened, as if bracing herself. "What is it?"

"_Logos_ just touched down, and took quite a beating. Niobe barely landed her in one piece."

"The electrical storm?"

"Well, there's that," he said soberly. "And the sentinels are getting worse. The reinforcements from the machine rebels never arrived. Squiddies are getting dangerously close to the Zionist border patrol."

"Shit." Trinity looked at Neo for the first time since he told her the truth. He tried to see into her but she was like stone under his imploring gaze. They didn't have time for this. "Anything on Synergy?"

"Missing in action. Our ships can't contact her. Can't read her in the code, either. She's been out of touch for nearly two days. Nobody knows what to think."

"Trin, we have to get out there," Neo said to her. She nodded in agreement. "We have to set this right."

"If we're going to go, we should go now," Knight warned. "If the rain gets any worse, we won't be able to take off."

"Alright. Knight, get the crew together and see what you can do to optimize the pads. We'll shove off as soon as possible. Rorie, you too. We'll report your findings to command before we leave."

Trinity gave her orders with resolve, and handed her daughter her coat. Rorie took it without argument, and pulled her mother into a quick hug before she left with Knight, his arm around her shoulders.

"She doesn't know, does she?" Trinity asked, turning to Neo once they were alone. "Synergy doesn't know who she is."

"No."

"_Then God help us," _she prayed, almost so softly he didn't hear. "God save us both from what we've done."

He went over to her, cautiously, and she let him brush his hand over her arm. He just needed the contact, he needed some form of connection to her before he crumbled. "Forgive me," he murmured. "Trinity, please…"

Her stillness stretched out forever, and a few tears poured down her cheeks, quiet and swift. "Will she forgive us?" she asked. "We failed her… Neo, we failed her together, you know that. I shouldn't have taken her there… or, I should have told you I'd lost the baby. Then you would have known. And we would have _found_ her. We would have found her _together_. You… you shouldn't have been looking for her all this time, alone."

"No." He took her face in his hands. "No, I shouldn't have. I should have told you. I thought I was protecting you, but you had a right to know. I betrayed you both-"

"Stop. Don't do this, please." She wiped her eyes and drifted away. He knew. They couldn't do this now. Her heart was breaking and she was angry, either with him, or herself or them both, he couldn't be sure, but they couldn't deal with it now. "If she's in danger, then we need to hurry," she decided, her voice still shaking a little. "But, Neo. You know we may not be able to save her."

"I promised her we'd get her out."

His wife looked back at him, her watery azure gaze swirling with regret, fear, and strength. "Okay," she said, letting out a trembling sigh. "Then, let's go."

* * *

"Your sister?" 

Rorie wiped back wet hair from her face and stared at the waterfall pouring over the windshield. "She was the price for my mother's life."

David sat opposite her in the cockpit, intently examining her profile. Her face was like stone, a strikingly uncharacteristic expression for such a passionate person. She almost looked calm. If it weren't for the focus in her eyes, as if she were studying something that he couldn't see. Or thinking about something he couldn't understand.

"And she has asked for your help?"

Rorie shook her head. "I don't know what she wants. I don't know what I'm…" she cut herself short. "No, that's not true."

"Rorie?"

"They haven't stopped calling to me. They haven't stopped since this morning. It's getting louder. I know what I'm supposed to do. Or… I know what I'm not supposed to do. But it isn't anything anyone is going to like."

"No," he agreed. "Especially not Knight."

"Sometimes I wonder if you can read my mind, David. It's a little unsettling, to be honest."

"Why else would you be speaking to me and not him?"

"You say that like I never talk to you about anything. Why shouldn't I talk to you?"

"You're in love with him. And he worships you. He always has."

She registered the statement with a flicker of surprise, and then a smile as she turned her face away. David watched with affection as she tried to mask her joy. Perhaps she was embarrassed. But how could he not know? Was he blind?

Knight's feelings had been obvious enough for months. And although David had never been particularly close, or fond of the pod-born boy who had been stealing his sister from him for years, he certainly understood his attraction. With time, he even came to respect it. Knight treated her like a queen, and so perhaps, he wasn't nearly as daft as David had once believed him to be.

And when Rorie arrived with him at fleet command to deliver her mother's orders, David instantly knew their friendship had become a romance. Their fingers woven tightly together, Knight caressed his thumb over her hand in the subtlest of gestures that spoke volumes to anyone who paid the smallest bit of attention. And she glowed at his touch, spoke to him in an intimate purr. Even in one of her most conflicted moments, mired in uncertainty and anguish, she'd never looked so happy.

"I don't know what happened," she said, still unable to meet his eyes. "I still can't believe that it's happened. He's… wonderful."

"He'd have to be."

"You've never thought so. You can't hide that from me."

"It's an older brother's duty to protect his sister… from _all_ things. Knight is very lucky you seemed to enjoy his attentions. I never understood it. But… then again, our tastes in the opposite sex have never been simpatico."

"Oh, I don't know, David. I think we both have a soft spot for blondes."

He scowled at her arched eyebrow. "We are not talking about me."

"No, but you should talk to her. Hawk-Eye would be wise to reciprocate." Her smile faded, and she took his hands in hers. "Who knows where any of us will be tomorrow. No regrets, right?"

David gazed at her for a moment or two. Cherished each one. "I suppose there is no longer any reason for me to delay. Or… for _you_ to delay. If you've decided."

Rorie's chin crinkled, and she blinked back a sudden wave of what David knew was fear. And she was so rarely afraid of anything. "I can't ask him to do this with me," she whispered. "I have no right to ask him."

"To ask me what?"

She wasn't surprised by his voice; she just tilted her head and sighed. Closed her eyes as David rose and pulled her into a tight embrace. He murmured a blessing into her ear and then nodded briefly to Knight, who had the look of a man who already knew what Rorie was about to say. Yes, perhaps he had underestimated him. Knight was not a fool.

* * *

"I've spoken to my parents," Rorie said once they were alone. "And I've listened to my heart. Knight… I can't go with you." 

He didn't say a word. Waited. And when she didn't continue, he looked like he might cry. "Where you go, I go."

"Not this time."

"I don't understand. I'm not going to understand when you… when you talk like that. You're scaring me. So just… just say it. Explain it to me."

"I don't think I can explain it."

"Try."

"There isn't time. You have to go. And so do I."

"Are you…" Knight trailed off and seemed at a complete loss. He ran a hand through his dripping hair, and then in a quick, sudden movement, he closed the door behind him, trapping them in the cockpit together. "Neither of us is going anywhere. Not until you at least tell me what's going on."

"They're calling me."

"Who?"

"We've been though this. I don't know. I just have to go."

"Where?"

"I'm not sure. To the truth."

"That doesn't-"

"I _know_ it doesn't make sense!" she suddenly exclaimed. "Don't you think I know how insane all of this is? All I know is that I'm not supposed to go with you. There is something here that… is calling to me."

"Synergy. Your sister. And that's where we're going to-"

"To broadcast depth, where I am completely useless, Knight! I'm no use to anyone sitting in the sewers!"

"Rorie, this rain is only getting worse. The electricity is out, the buildings are closed. Lock has put the boarder patrol on high alert. It isn't safe here."

"It isn't safe _anywhere_."

"You're safe with me. If you feel you have to stay, then fine. But you're not doing it alone."

"The Neb needs her tactical officer. The sewers are swarming with sentinels; you said so yourself. It's what you've been trained to do. It's where you belong."

"Rorie-"

"Knight, please. Don't fight me on this. You won't win." He opened his mouth to protest again, but Rorie was too fast, pulling him down into a kiss. He tried to break it, but she was insistent, holding the back of his neck and passionately swallowing any objection. A tear, hers, fell down his cheek. "Watch out for my parents," she said onto his chest. "Like you always do."

And then it was his turn to insist, pressing his lips to her eyes, forehead, mouth and neck. "You can't do this to me," he breathed. "You can't tear yourself away from me. Not now. I love you too much."

"I know, but we have to. Before the storm is too bad to take off." She unwound herself from his arms. "Please. Trust me. _Look_ at me. And trust me."

He looked at her. Trusted her. And raised his hand to her jaw just as the door behind them squeaked open. Kirk peeked his head in hesitantly. "Knight. Rorie. I'm sorry. It's time to go. They're closing the gates."

Knight cursed in French and turned back to her, held her by the shoulders. "I'll see you again soon," he said, locking his eyes with hers. They were both desperate. "I promise."

They kissed again, heedless to whether or not Kirk was still there. Knight wouldn't be the one to separate them, so Rorie had to pull away, whispering an _I love you_ as she turned to leave.

His fingers brushed her hip, and then, she was gone.

* * *


End file.
